Maybe I'm Dead, I Just Haven't Stopped Moving Yet
by cybersyd42
Summary: The consequences of a mission gone wrong have a devastating impact on the SGA team. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: Quite angsty this one, even for me. Set early in Season Three, but contains no spoilers and no warnings. I don't use a beta, so any mistakes are all mine. Reviews are always appreciated._

Maybe I'm Dead, I Just Haven't Stopped Moving Yet

_**Elizabeth.**_

Eight minutes.

She counts, measuring time in the length of Ronon's steps as he paces up and down the gateroom.

Eight minutes for Lorne to gather his team, to grab their weapons and uniforms. Eight minutes for Beckett to prepare his nurses and infirmary for casualties. Eight minutes since the first 'unscheduled activation' and the next.

She turns towards the Stargate, resisting the urge to run down the stairs, as Teyla appears by her side, and Lorne's men lift their weapons towards the event horizon as it bursts into the room.

"Dr McKay's IDC!" shouts the technician.

"Drop the shield!"

She expects to hear Sheppard's voice over the radio, a warning. Coming in hot. It never comes. The room is filled with the sharp sound of ricochets, projectiles flying through the open Stargate as men duck and take cover.

McKay falls through the 'gate, Sheppard slung over one shoulder, and they land on the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Elizabeth's breath catches in her throat. Relief and horror clash for control, and she is only able to hold herself back for as long as it takes for the shield to raise before she runs down the stairs.

They are both covered in blood. McKay's uniform is soaked in it, but it is Sheppard who is unconscious, whose body stays limp while McKay drags himself from beneath it.

Rodney screams, his voice close to breaking. "Where the hell is Carson! He's not breathing!"

Beckett appears from the sidelines, breathless but in control. Elizabeth knows he has run from the transporters. A team of four run behind him, with gurneys and medical kits. They descend on Sheppard, shielding him from view, so Elizabeth goes to McKay, looking lost and shattered, sat a few feet away. He is propped up on his arms, and is shaking.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

He swallows, several times, then lifts his head to look at Teyla and Ronon, running towards him.

"You're here?"

Teyla gives him a smile, warm and beautiful, as though Carson isn't crouched over Sheppard fighting for their friend's life.

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth can see needles and an ambu bag and she can hear the pinched, stark orders Carson shouts at his team.

"Yes," Teyla says, "we both returned through the 'gate safely, Rodney." She kneels, and places her hand on his shoulder, in an act of comfort - then frowns.

Ronon is quicker than any of them. "McKay. Your leg."

Rodney dips his gaze, and Elizabeth realises that she was wrong, that not all the blood is Sheppard's, that Rodney's right pant leg is torn and black and puddling red beneath him.

"Oh," McKay says, then his elbows fold, and he collapses onto the floor.

* * *

The gateroom is a mess. 

A bullet has scored a thin, ragged line across one wall. Another took out a glass window in an office opposite. There is medical debris on the floor, discarded in the panic. And blood.

The room smells of it.

Elizabeth leaves it behind, delegates the clean up task to someone else. She follows Teyla and Ronon as they chase the gurneys, arrives at the infirmary only to be faced by the stern look of Nurse Simmons and an order to wait.

It is one order, the only order, that not even Elizabeth can supersede.

Ronon lurks. He picks a corner to stand in, then doesn't move for two hours, his back against the wall and his shoulders bowed, his chin resting on his chest.

Teyla sits beside Elizabeth, and tries to fill in the blanks, to answer some of the questions Elizabeth has.

"They had more technology than is usual, for Pegasus. Not to the level of the Genii, but close, particularly in weaponry."

"Were they hostile?"

"Not at first." Teyla seems stricken with guilt. Elizabeth wants to assure her that it isn't her fault, that there is no way Teyla could have predicted what was to happen. But she stays quiet. The truth will not help. "The situation was tense, yes, but I believe Caryll was keen for discussions to go well."

Ronon says nothing, makes no contribution.

"However, it became apparent that there were others in the ministry who did not share his feelings. Their attempts to hide from the Wraith during recent cullings have only been partially successful, and they fear that outsiders jeopardize this further."

"When were weapons drawn?"

"The argument between Caryll and his counterparts was becoming heated. Colonel Sheppard suggested we return to Atlantis to allow the ministry to reach a decision. Caryll agreed." Teyla's back is perfectly straight, her posture one of strength and determination.

Her eyes give her away. The way her gaze continually flits away from Elizabeth towards the infirmary doors.

"On our return to the Stargate Ronon became aware that we were being followed. Shots were fired. The Colonel ordered us to split up and take different routes to the 'gate, to divide our attackers. Ronon and I arrived at the Stargate first."

"You didn't wait for them?"

Elizabeth is aware of Teyla's shoulders stiffening, and she starts to shake her head, to apologise. "I'm sorry. I just want to know what happened."

Teyla's expression softens in understanding, and she takes a breath, and continues. "We were not able to lose the four men following us. We managed to incapacitate them, but Colonel Sheppard contacted us over the radio and said that the men had called for reinforcements. He ordered us to return to Atlantis for back-up."

She nods, slowly, and glances at Ronon. The runner has a deep scratch running along the left side of his head, where he was clipped by a bullet, but when prompted by Beckett's staff he refused treatment, just growled at them from his corner.

Elizabeth didn't argue it. It wasn't serious, and if Ronon wanted to wait she wasn't going to force the issue. The medical staff were needed elsewhere.

"I am sorry, Dr Weir." Teyla dips her head, her shoulders curving in towards her chest. "If we had stayed…"

She reaches out and takes Teyla's hand, hesitantly, giving the long, elegant fingers a gentle squeeze. "It sounds to me like you did everything right. I'm sure Colonel Sheppard will say the same."

She says the words with conviction, denying to admit the scene in the gateroom, the cloying scent of blood she imagines she can still smell.

Teyla pulls her hand away, slowly, and wraps her arms around her chest. The Athosian looks exhausted, though it has been less than six hours since the four team members stepped through the gate, healthy and whole.

McKay had been late, caught up in an experiment, and had dashed into the gateroom with only one boot tied and his shirt un-tucked. Sheppard had scolded him, with a raised eyebrow and tone seeping with sarcasm, and Rodney had responded back that a man who spent more time on his hair than most women he knew was in no place to criticise. To which Sheppard had asked how many women McKay knew.

Ronon had smirked, managing to seem both exasperated and amused, and Elizabeth had rolled her eyes and made it clear that if the two children did not play nicely, they would be even more late than they already were. Which wasn't how she had phrased it - _I believe if you leave now, gentlemen, you will still be on time for your mission schedule_ - but her tone had been clear.

Then Teyla had stepped through the Stargate, deliberately, and the three men had followed, Sheppard and McKay still bickering.

Six hours.

Elizabeth blinks, feeling her eyes fill with tears and struggling to restrain them. She wipes a hand across her face and then looks away.

Shell shocked. This is how she feels; nervous and jittery and completely unable to grasp what has happened.

She takes a deep breath, then another, forcing her heart to calm.

The door to the infirmary opens.

Elizabeth gets to her feet, and is dimly aware of Teyla doing the same, of Ronon pushing himself away from the wall to join them.

It isn't Beckett stood in the doorway. Nurse Simmons stands in her white uniform, but it is creased, and smeared with something ugly and brown. Her face has lost its stern, no nonsense firmness of earlier, and now her eyes are soft and her voice quiet.

"They're both still with us."

The rest of her explanation is muffled, excerpts through white noise. Elizabeth tries to concentrate, but picks up only words like 'artery' and 'bled out,' 'surgery' and the all important, 'critical but stable.'

Finally, "I'll let you know as soon as they're out." The nurse glances over the three of them, ending with Ronon. "You should come and have that looked at."

He nods, slowly, and follows the nurse through the infirmary doors. For an insane moment Elizabeth feels jealous - envious of the fact that Ronon's injury allows him just a little closer to his wounded team mates.

Teyla seems to feel the same, because she sinks back into the chair and won't look up.

"_Doctor Weir?"_

She taps her radio and answers without thinking. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"_Dr Zelenka is in your office, ma'am. You were due to meet him to discuss power consumption and the ZPM."_ The Canadian sounds apologetic and nervous. _"Should I ask him to postpone the meeting?"_

She considers the option, tempted. She wants to stay here, with Teyla, and wait with her until there is news, until she can see Sheppard and McKay for herself, and not rely on the words of a stranger. But life in the city goes on, and as its leader she has no choice but to continue with it.

"No. Give him my apologies and assure him I'll be there in the next five minutes."

She drops her hand, and glances at Teyla, making a mental note to have someone bring the Athosian a blanket and something to eat.

She could suggest going to her quarters to sleep, but knows there would be no point.

"Teyla…" She stops, not sure what to say.

The Athosian fills in the blanks for her, lifting her head and smiling, warmly. "They will be fine, Dr Weir. I am certain."

She nods, finding comfort in Teyla's faith. Then she turns and heads towards the outer door and the corridor beyond.

It is only when she reaches the transporter that she realises, Radek doesn't know, that few people know, and she will be the one to have to tell him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, I think that's the most reviews I've ever received for a single chapter! And all it took was to whump both McKay and Sheppard? You guys are easy to please ;-) Thank you for all the reviews, apologies if I don't reply to everyone. All the feedback is appreciated. Now... on with the fic!_

* * *

_Sheppard_

He wakes to a foggy existence, battling drugs and exhaustion to open his eyes.

The infirmary is quiet. He tilts his head carefully and takes in every detail. There is a tube feeding oxygen to his nose, and two IVs taped to his arm, one of blood, one of something clear. Leads are taped to his chest, and monitors surround him. He suspects painkillers may be involved, heavy duty ones. There is something thick and unwieldy around his neck, making it difficult to move, and when he tries anything more than a half inch, pain tugs him backwards.

"You shouldn't do that."

Ronon's face appears above him. The runner has a bandage taped to the left side of his head, but the wrapping is awkward and clumsy, and seems on the verge of falling off.

Sheppard can't work out why Beckett would allow his staff to apply something so sloppily - until he takes in the Satedan's treasured dreadlocks, and realises Ronon must have forbidden them from shaving his head.

He grins, feeling loopy, blaming it on the painkillers.

Ronon frowns, then turns his head and looks away, and says to someone: "He's awake."

There is the rustle of thick fabric, and then Beckett's face appears, stubbled and smiling.

"Colonel, it's good to see you're finally with us."

He blinks, and tries to speak. His throat is dry and scratchy, and he suspects a ventilator may be to blame.

That should worry him.

"Careful," Beckett scolds, as he fetches an ice chip. "You've got a nasty wound on your neck that we've patched up but if you move about too much you'll pull your stitches."

His neck. Sheppard frowns, trying to remember when he was injured. There was a planet, P3 something, and lots of shouting. Lots of shouting. Most of it was from people he didn't know, faces he didn't recognise, but some was McKay. He remembered the way the physicist's face was so pale, and his voice desperate and angry.

"_I don't really do well with medical stuff, Colonel, so if you'd like to stop bleeding to death, I'd really appreciate it… oh hell, no, don't…"_

"McKay?"

Beckett turns away, checking IV lines, so Sheppard can only catch glimpses of the man's shoulders and back.

"He's in surgery. He was hit with a type of explosive projectile weapon and we're still removing shrapnel from his leg."

There is something about Beckett's words that don't fit right, but before Sheppard can ask Carson has turned back towards him, and is patting him on the shoulder.

"Now, you gave us a nasty scare Colonel, I don't mind telling you, and you're going to be very tired for the next few days. So don't fight that compulsion to sleep - it's your body's way of telling you to take time to recover."

He would like to point out that he doesn't have the energy to fight anything, at present, but Carson disappears again, and is replaced by Teyla.

He feels her hand take his.

"Colonel." She smiles, and rubs a thumb across his palm before letting go. "Although I am pleased to see you awake, you should do as the doctor asks. Sleep."

Unable to argue, he closes his eyes, and obediently succumbs to the dark.

* * *

The next time he awakes the room is dark, and no one appears over his bed.

He blinks sleepily, staring at the ceiling, battling for a minute, for two. He hates the way time seems to skip in the infirmary, the way entire days can pass while he slumbers under sheets and drugs. Beckett calls him strong, resilient, for recovering so quickly from injuries. It isn't that. It's boredom.

There is a reason he has woken up. He's not stupid, he knows whatever happened was serious, that he wouldn't need to be surrounded by this much equipment if it wasn't - and he knows he should rest, should sleep.

But something keeps him awake.

_McKay_.

Carefully, mindful of the injury on his neck he turns his head. The wound pulls, angry and painful, but instead of stopping he welcomes the pain, welcomes it as the only strong, recognisable sensation under this suffocating blanket of drugs and exhaustion.

Another bed in the infirmary is occupied. Someone has drawn the curtains around it, but there is a light behind it and Sheppard can make out the silhouette of someone sleeping. McKay, he thinks, recognising the profile of the face against the pillow.

The physicist does not appear to be as tangled in machinery as he is. There is no vent, no oxygen, no monitors, although Sheppard thinks he can see an IV hung on a stand.

But the sight bothers him. The curtain bothers him.

It isn't right.

The pain in his neck is starting to become overpowering, so he turns his head back so he is again staring at the ceiling.

He falls asleep before he thinks of calling for Carson.

* * *

Sheppard wakes briefly, several more times, but it is three days before he wakes properly.

He guesses that Carson must have cut back his medication, because the pain from his injury is worse, a dull ache that blossoms acutely every time he moves his head. He prefers it, is happy to trade the pain for clear, drug-free thinking.

His bed is elevated slightly, so he can see most of the infirmary without having to move his head. The oxygen has gone, as has one of the IVs, but the monitors and bandages remain.

McKay's bed is empty.

He stares at it. The space was obviously recently occupied. There is a book on the table, and somebody's I-pod. But the mattress has been stripped, and the IV stand is empty.

Confused, hurting, angry at the way his own body has betrayed him and that he doesn't know what's going on, what has happened, Sheppard panics. His heart rate shoots up, as does the bleeping of the monitor beside his bed, and he sits up without thinking, then drops back when agony rips through his neck and back and shoulder and down to his fingers.

He gasps, pathetically.

"Colonel!"

Carson sounds pissed. The Scot runs over to the bed and immediately grabs Sheppard's hands, which are snatching at the bandages, and pulls them down to his sides. "Leave it alone, you'll make it worse! Lay still!"

Sheppard obeys, but he continues to gasp, and the movement of his jaw and his throat makes the pain even worse. Then there is a tug on his arm and after a moment the pain subsides - not completely, but enough to allow him to breathe, and for his heart rate to slow, and for feeling to return to his fingers.

"Bloody idiot," Carson says, putting the needle to one side and reaching up with gentle hands to examine Sheppard's neck. He pulls back the bandages carefully, and breathes a soft sigh of relief. "Miracle you didn't rip your stitches. I'd appreciate it if you avoided needing more surgery, Colonel, since our supplies of blood are running a little low lately."

"Sorry," he croaks, and Carson's eyes soften as he reaches out for a glass of water.

"Slowly," the Scot warns, as though Sheppard has any choice, with his throat feeling swollen and tender, as though something is pressing on it from the outside.

He takes several sips, then lies back against the pillows, as Beckett fusses around him.

"Where's McKay?"

Carson's face twitches. "Surgery," he says, then picks up a chart and studies it, hiding from something.

"Surgery?" Sheppard repeats, alarmed. "What for?"

Beckett sighs, deeply and heavily, and puts down the chart. He turns towards the bed, eyes dark and sad. "I didn't want to tell you until after, but I suppose…"

"What!" he demands, anger and worry building again.

"What do you remember from back on the planet?"

"Not much," he admits. The pieces are still there, in his head, but jumbled, and huge gaps are missing towards the end. "I remember that people were shooting at us through the trees. We split up. I went with Rodney. Then…" he stops, lifting one hand to touch the bandage on his neck. "I was on the ground, and McKay was shouting at me."

"You were shot," Beckett explains. "The bullet clipped an artery and you almost bled out. Rodney carried you to the Stargate but there was an ambush." He puts one hand on the rail of the bed, but Sheppard suddenly realises he isn't sure who Beckett is trying to comfort - his patient, or himself.

He holds his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Rodney was hit with some sort of explosive round that left shrapnel in his leg and hip. The damage is, well…" Carson stops again, and Sheppard is swamped by a horrible sense of dread, of devastation.

The bed was stripped…

Something must show in his face because Carson's eyes widen and he says, quickly: "He's fine, Colonel. Actually, when you both arrived through the 'gate it was you that caused us the most trouble."

"But…" Sheppard says simply, allowing Beckett to fill in the blanks.

"His leg is badly torn up. Muscles, tendons…" Carson shakes his head. "Whatever this weapon was, it was designed to maim, not kill. For a while there we thought we might have to amputate…"

Sheppard swallows, hard. He can't remember what happened, he can't remember getting through the Stargate, can't remember McKay getting shot. He fixates on Carson's words, on the past tense. "But you didn't?"

"No, but Rodney's in for a rough time of it. This is his third round of surgery as we attempt to repair the damage."

"But he'll be okay?" Sheppard asks, although he knows the answer, recognises the dark look in Carson's eyes for what it is.

"I'm optimistic that with physical therapy, he'll be able to walk. With aid." Carson's hand closes tightly around the bedrail. "Dr Burrows is a talented surgeon. I wouldn't trust anyone else to operate, including myself."

"That's why you're not in there?" Sheppard guesses, and regrets it when he sees Carson's eyes flash with guilt and anger.

"Believe me, Colonel, if I thought it would help…"

"Sorry." He lifts his hands from the sheets. "I didn't mean it like that."

Beckett visibly deflates, and shakes his head. "I was there for the first two. But this time…" He laughs, and it sounds strained and ugly. For the first time Sheppard realises how exhausted the physician looks, how drained, with bruises under his eyes and shadows in his cheeks. "Burrows accused me of being too emotionally involved."

Sheppard looks away. He has been in enough military hospitals to recognise the looks of the doctors, brought in to stitch up the worst of wounds, to hold tourniquets over severed limbs and keep organs in chest cavities. Recognises the emotional detachment needed by trauma surgeons to do their job, to see soldiers as patients, not as somebody's son, somebody's father.

But McKay isn't a soldier. And Carson isn't just his doctor.

"Have you told him?"

Carson sighs, heavily. "No. Although I think he suspects." He laughs again, short and stark. "Rodney isn't complaining as much as he usually does." Then he sobers, and looks at his hands. "This isn't something that we can fix."

Sheppard says nothing, trying to take it in, trying to grasp the truth. Beckett's head is bowed, and then the Scot turns away, jerkily, moving to the side table and rearranging the objects on its surface.

Emotionally involved, Sheppard thinks.

"Hey."

Carson turns.

"You're doing everything you can, right? McKay knows that." He smiles, and forces confidence into his voice. "He's stubborn. If anyone can pull a solution out of his ass when no one else can, he can."

Beckett returns the smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Aye." The Scot reaches out and pats Sheppard on the shoulder. "Just please, follow your doctor's orders for once, Colonel, and take it easy. My blood pressure can't take much more of this. Now," he withdraws the hand, "are you hungry?"

No, Sheppard thinks. He really isn't.

* * *

He is asleep when McKay returns from surgery, and when he wakes the physicist has the curtains drawn around his bed again.

Someone, and he suspects Elizabeth, has left _War and Peace_ by his bed, but he isn't in the mood. Beside it sits a Gameboy.

It was Ford's. He recognises the colour, the scratch across the side. He has no idea how it got here, but he picks it up, switches it on, sets it to silent.

There is a stack of games also on the table. Surprisingly, there is only a single fighting game there, a wrestling one. The others are mostly sports - baseball, racing - and a couple of Mario Brothers. He picks a rally game.

He plays for ten minutes, but isn't really concentrating, and every time he looks across to the curtained bed he loses his place in the game and crashes into a wall.

Teyla had been to visit earlier. She stayed for only a few minutes, because he was already fighting sleep, and spent the time explaining what she knew of the mission, and how it had gone so badly wrong. He had reassured her that it wasn't her fault, that it wasn't anyone's fault. That they couldn't have known what was to happen, that the ministry would turn against them to the extent of sending guns after them, not when Caryll had been so enthusiastic about the meeting.

It seemed to help her, even if his words did nothing for his own self-doubts.

There is movement from beyond the curtain. McKay is hooked up to a heart monitor, and Sheppard hears the beeping pick up pace.

One of the nurses appears from a side room, and seeing Sheppard awake, gives him a smile before disappearing behind McKay's curtain.

Sheppard lays down the Gameboy and listens. He can't make out McKay's replies, but he can hear the nurse, the way her voice is hushed.

She asks simple questions: how do you feel, are you in pain, are you thirsty? Reassures him that the surgery went well. McKay's replies are short mumbles. After several moments the nurse reappears, gives another smile at Sheppard, then heads over to a cupboard on the far wall and starts searching for something.

Sheppard waits until she is done, and has returned to the office, before he speaks.

"McKay?"

His throat is still sore, and his voice scratchy from disuse.

"McKay? You awake?"

He waits for an answer, counting the seconds. Eight, nine…

"Evidently."

Rodney's voice sounds hoarse and sullen.

"Good," Sheppard says, then jokes, "I wanted some company. Think we can get that nurse to pull your curtains back?"

There is another pause. "No. I'm tired, Colonel. I just came out of surgery, or did you miss that part?"

He pulls a face, although McKay can't see. "I knew that."

"So you'll forgive me if I'm not in the chatty mood." The bed rustles, and Sheppard imagines the scientist has turned his back on him.

He tries again, anyway. "I wanted to say thanks. For back on the planet. You saved my life."

The shadow snorts, then hisses in pain. "Don't thank me."

"Hey, you did good."

"No," McKay says, and the volume of his voice lifts a little, and fills with anger, "no, _don't thank me."_

Sheppard flinches, flinches at the anger and pain and the unspoken words. He can't blame the scientist, but he can't let it go, either, and wants nothing more than to climb out of bed and go to his friend's side, to shake some of the old McKay back into him, but even holding the Gameboy has been exhausting.

He struggles for his next words, for a way of letting McKay know all that he feels.

"Beckett told me about your leg."

This earns him only silence.

"We'll work something out, McKay." He fills his words with confidence - he's getting good at that - and certainty and what he hopes is warmth. "Carson's the best doc' around."

He means to say more, something about living in a city built by the Ancients, about having the resources of two galaxies at their disposal, but he doesn't get that far.

McKay's voice is harsh and biting. "He's not god. Leave it alone, Colonel. I don't need fake promises. Leave it alone, and leave _me_ alone. I'm going to sleep."

He can't leave it at that, hates the flat, terse responses from the normally verbose scientist. "Hey. Everything will be fine."

Suddenly the curtain shoots back; Rodney is upright, supporting himself on shaking arms, pale as a sheet. Snarls: "Don't tell me how to act, and don't tell me everything's going to be fine! You have no idea! This is all your damn fault, you know that!"

His mouth drops open, and he struggles to push himself into a sitting position. "McKay…"

"The least you can do is to leave me the hell alone!"

Then the curtain snaps back into place, and Sheppard hears the bed groan as McKay slumps back into it.

He doesn't move for several minutes, staring at the curtains, at the dark shadows beyond them. Can't grasp the enormity of what's been said.

But he does recognise one thing.

This is the most McKay has said to him since the mission.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Notes: Thanks again for the reviews! You guys are great. A prize goes to the only one of you to guess the content of this next chapter..._

* * *

_Sheppard_

After another day Beckett allows Sheppard to take walks around the infirmary, and up and down the corridor outside. The wound is healing nicely, Carson says, and if he continues to be careful there may not even be a scar.

He doesn't find it as comforting as he should.

McKay continues to hide behind his curtains. Sheppard has sat with him several times, but the scientist pretends to be asleep, and John pretends to be fooled.

_This is all your damn fault._

He sits in a chair beside McKay's bed and reads _War and Peace_, while McKay keeps his eyes closed and doesn't twitch.

The scientist's right leg is swathed in thick bandages up to his hip, and kept elevated on a cushion. It looks uncomfortable.

Sheppard has to force himself look at it.

He hasn't spoken to anyone of McKay's words, and isn't aware of the scientist doing the same. Despite McKay's attempts at shutting him out, there is little privacy in an infirmary - he knows when the scientist eats (very little), when he goes to the bathroom (awkward and long winded), when his sheets are changed. He can hear the voices of those who come to visit, although they rarely stay for very long, turned away by either a sharp retort or blunt silence.

Because there are no secrets, no one mentions McKay's injury, not even in conversation with Sheppard. When Elizabeth comes to visit she talks of missions and the work of Atlantis, city gossip. Lorne comes at the same time every day, and stays for ten minutes - no more - to update him on all he's missing whilst absent from the role of military leader. Ronon comes with a pack of cards, and Sheppard teaches him poker. The Satedan proves to be a quick learner, and a good match, with both men winning as many hands as they lose. When Beckett or Zelenka join them, the pair gang up against the two scientists, and strip them of CDs, coffee, chocolate, whiskey - all of which they eventually return.

Ronon asks McKay if he wants to play every time, but he never gets a response.

Teyla has played twice, but she is busy. Sheppard knows she has taken the unexpected downtime to visit her people on the mainland, but when she returns she spends several hours updating him, particularly on Jinto, and how the children have adopted the Earth game 'baseball' - with a few Athosian alterations.

Only Teyla and Zelenka spend any length of time at McKay's bedside. Ronon seems to accept that the scientist wants to be alone, and doesn't push the issue. Elizabeth spends a few minutes hidden behind the curtain, but a few softly uttered sentences which prove non-starters, and Sheppard hears her sigh, then leave.

Teyla spends almost exactly the same amount of time with McKay as she does with Sheppard, and recites the same news - though with less interruption. The lack of response doesn't seem to faze her, and when she leaves, Sheppard hears her apologise to McKay for not visiting more often.

Zelenka has his own chair, and comes armed with laptop and notes. He recites theories and test results, using words with such variety it sounds to Sheppard like a foreign language - and he knows, despite his pretence, he's not stupid.

Radek receives the same silent treatment as everyone else, and every time, leaves looking a little more frazzled, a little more dejected.

After the fifth time, Sheppard beckons him over, and says: "You're doing your best."

Radek scrubs a hand across his head and says: "It is not enough."

That was this morning, the sixth day since the mission. Three days since McKay's angry outburst - the most emotion he has shown during the entire time.

Sheppard's anger level is rising. Anger at McKay's stubborn silence, at his friend's sinking depression. At his injury, and his inability to help, his desire to shake the scientist out of it. Anger at himself, for letting this happen.

He looks down at _War and Peace_, and realises he hasn't turned a page in the last twenty minutes. Too caught up in his own thoughts.

"Colonel?"

He turns his head too quickly, and regrets the movement when his injury protests. "Ow."

"Sorry." Kate Heightmeyer moves so she is in his line of sight, and looks apologetic. "I didn't mean to surprise you." Her voice is hushed, barely above a whisper.

"My fault." He lifts the book off his lap to explain. "Absorbed in literature," he lies.

She nods, and glances towards the bed and it's occupant. "He's asleep. I'll come back later."

Sheppard raises an eyebrow at her, deliberately, communicating without words. Kate looks back at the bed and frowns.

"Oh. Well…" She turns her attention back to him, "if you have a moment, Colonel?"

He pulls a face, but it isn't like there is a sufficiently believable lie. He has nothing to do, has had nothing to do for days, except be ignored by McKay. "Sure."

Kate waits for him to get to his feet, but doesn't offer him help, a gesture Sheppard appreciates. It offers him the self-control the infirmary strips from him. She leads him away from his bed to Carson's office, opening the door for him and waiting while he hobbles inside.

"For privacy," she explains, as she shuts the door behind him, taking the second chair and leaving Carson's larger, comfier seat to Sheppard.

"You want to ask me about McKay?" he guesses.

"He is one of the topics, yes."

He huffs. "I can't tell you anything. In case you couldn't tell from that little charade out there, we're not exactly on speaking terms at the minute."

She gives him a small, sympathetic smile. "Rodney isn't talking to anyone at the moment, Colonel, no more than he has to. You're not the only one."

_I'm the only one he blames,_ he thinks.

"How are you feeling?"

John shrugs. "Fine, considering. Beckett's stitched me up, says I should be out of here in the next day or so."

She nods. "How long does he think it will be before you're on active duty?"

"Five days before light duty, ten before I can go off-world again." He stops, realising the implications of what he's said.

Heightmeyer must see it as well because she says, "Without Dr McKay," and then nothing more.

He grimaces. "He needs time to recover."

"Colonel," she says, in a no-nonsense tone.

He can't do it. Can't admit to the stark reality she wants to force on him. Rodney might have accepted it, might have sunk into depression, but he'd be damned if he'll do the same.

"Look around, doc'. McKay's in the best place possible. We'll find an answer."

She sighs. "And how long will you make him wait?"

His eyes narrow. "This is about helping him."

"Is it?" Kate places her hands on the desk, palm down, fingers flat. "Rodney is pushing everyone away because he has committed himself to the idea that his life is over."

"So we show him there's hope," he argues.

She shakes her head. "If you do that, if you promise him something you can't necessarily give him, then he will never adjust. Right now he can't see a future. Your job, as his friend, is to show him he's wrong."

He feels sick, and looks away, down to his lap. "You've got no idea," he mutters.

She answers calmly, neutrally. "Then explain."

"You haven't spoken with him?"

A ghost of a sad smile crosses her lips. "No. He isn't being particularly talkative."

"Glad it's not just me." He chooses not to repeat McKay's words. Partly he can't believe them; mostly because he _can _believe them, agrees with them, and hates himself.

Kate looks at him shrewdly, lips slightly pursed. "And what about you? Your injury was serious. Dr McKay only just got you back in time."

He doesn't need her, doesn't need anyone to tell him that. "I don't remember it," he says, being mostly truthful.

"It would be understandable if you were affected by this."

Scowling, he retorts: "It isn't the first time I've had a near death experience, doc'. In fact, I think you'll remember I have a slight insect-phobia."

She tilts her head. "True. But those instances did not involve anyone else. Especially someone close to you."

"If you're going somewhere with this…"

Her hands rise palm up, placating. "I know how you feel about our conversations, Colonel. I know I'm not your favourite person. But I also know that despite your assertions to the contrary, you are affected by what happens to you, and to those around you. You refused to speak to me after Lieutenant Ford…"

"This isn't the same!" he snaps back, heat rising in his face.

"No," she agrees, "but it's just as powerful. I'm not asking you to talk to me, Colonel, although obviously I would recommend that. But you need to talk to someone. And you should talk to Rodney, even if he won't talk back."

"To help him," the words taste like ash, "get _over_ this?"

"To cope." She takes a deep breath, then starts to get up. "Thank you for listening. Even if you don't agree with my opinion."

"I don't," he says, but gets up at the same time she does, albeit more stiffly.

Kate leaves the room first, and he stands in the doorway for a moment and watches her go, right hand tight around the metal pole of the IV stand. The infirmary is dark, the lights are dimmed, and the floor is cold beneath his slippered feet.

Slowly, he shuffles across to McKay's bed, and pushes back the curtain.

The scientist is half-curled, legs flat against the bed and chest twisted to the side. His left arm is crushed beneath him and the right, pinned by an IV, rests atop it, hand dangling over the edge of the mattress. His face is lined with pain.

Sheppard thinks the scientist is awake, but he isn't sure.

"Don't listen to her," he says, fiercely. "Kate's wrong. We'll find a way out of this, McKay. I swear."

* * *

It isn't long before he has to break his promise.

It is three days since his conversation with Kate, and he is out of the infirmary. McKay hasn't spoken to him once since that single, furious dismissal. Now Sheppard sits in the briefing room and clenches the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turn white.

"You all know why we're here."

Ronon and Teyla sit on one side of the table, close to each other. Ronon glowers and Teyla looks unhappy, though she is doing her best to hide it. Elizabeth hadn't invited them, had shot a shocked and wounded look at Sheppard when they had appeared; but he wasn't about to leave them out of this, to leave them in the dark. It was bad enough that McKay had no idea.

Elizabeth sits opposite, beside Carson. The physician looks even more tired than he did when Sheppard first awoke, as though the shadows borne by McKay's silence have become ingrained into the Scot's expression, into the lines of his face.

Elizabeth sits upright, back straight, but her expression is soft. Both firm and gentle, only her eyes betray any guilt, any remorse.

Sheppard is sat at the far end of the circle, towards Teyla and Ronon. Zelenka sits opposite, keeping neutral, staring at the table, his hands, the ceiling - anything but the people around him. He looks like Sheppard feels - like he's been asked to betray a friend when help is most needed.

When there is no response, Elizabeth says, firmly: "We need to decide what to do while Rodney is incapacitated."

Ronon grunts. "So this is temporary?"

Elizabeth glances at Beckett, who has a folder of notes and keeps running a pen up and down the first line of script. "Carson?"

The Scot lifts his head and sighs. "I wish I could be more positive. But Rodney's injury is extensive and will take a long time to heal. Months, maybe longer."

"But it will heal?" Teyla asks.

Carson clutches the pen tightly. "No. Not completely. With physical therapy, over time, Rodney could achieve fifty, maybe sixty percent use, eighty with a walking aid. But not to the physical fitness standards demanded by the SGC."

"He can't continue to go off-world," Weir says. "He would be a danger to himself and to his team."

"Maybe we should decide that," Ronon growls. Teyla puts her hand on his arm.

"He can stay on Atlantis," she says. "Remain as the head of science."

Sheppard sees Carson flinch. He feels sick, stomach hollow, tasting bitterness at the back of his throat. This is not a battle, he thinks, that they can win. But he tries, anyway. "McKay knows this city better than anyone," he says. "He's one of the main reasons we're out here. If it wasn't for him we'd all be dead a dozen times over."

Radek clears his throat, and speaks quietly but firmly. "Colonel Sheppard is right. Although I am familiar with Atlantis' systems, Rodney has always been able to predict the city's actions, to find solutions where there seem to be none."

"He deserves to see this through," Sheppard says, fiercely.

Carson swallows. The sound is loud, audible to his audience. "You're right, Colonel. And if I believed that Rodney's…" he pauses, can't say the d-word, "if I believed this was the best place for him, I would agree."

"And sending him back to Earth is better?" Teyla asks. "If he is to face this, should he not do it here, where people know him and can support him?"

"McKay considers you a friend," Ronon says, glaring at Beckett. It's an under the belt shot, but Sheppard isn't going to restrain the Satedan. Not this time. "You'd give up on him?"

"Aye," says Beckett, face flushed, "I am his friend, but I'm also his doctor. Even if we had the resources to aid Rodney's recovery, I couldn't recommend he stay here. The job would place too high a demand on him."

"And you can't let McKay decide that?" Sheppard snaps back.

"It's not a decision he can make," Elizabeth says. Her mask has slipped under the assault, and she looks drained. "We have to be realistic. Atlantis is not the same as a laboratory on Earth. The work done here is dangerous, even without the risk posed by the Wraith." She takes a breath. "What would happen if we needed to evacuate quickly? Or if an overload caused an explosion?"

Sheppard doesn't have an answer, but Elizabeth isn't finished, turning to Radek, startling the Czech.

"Dr Zelenka, do you believe that someone less physically able would be at the same risk level as other more able bodied colleagues?"

The scientist grips one hand in the other tightly, and says, with clear reluctance: "At greater risk."

"And could steps be taken to minimize that risk, to put that person in the same risk category as others?"

"Minimize, yes. But not to that extent." Radek swallows, then says quickly: "Nevertheless, the contribution Rodney makes to Atlantis should outweigh this danger. For all his ego, McKay knows more, has done more for this mission than anyone else in the department."

"Would you be able to take over?" Elizabeth asks. "You have led the department in the past for short periods, but would you agree to taking the role permanently?"

Again Radek grimaces, and Sheppard feels sorry for him, is angry at Elizabeth for putting the man in such a public position.

Slowly Zelenka lifts his head, tilting his chin defiantly, in an almost McKay-like gesture. "Yes. But I would like to state that this is not my preferred option."

Elizabeth softens. "It isn't for any of us," she admits. "But difficult decisions have to be made, decisions made in Rodney's best interests. Of course I want him to stay, but Atlantis isn't equipped to provide the long term care he needs."

"There is also another possibility," Beckett says. His tone is odd, uncertain, and all eyes in the room turn to him. "The SGC is in the possession of a device which the Goa'uld use to heal physical injuries."

"The Goa'uld?" Ronon asks, voice low.

Sheppard sits up, recognising the slight note of optimism in Beckett's voice. "Milky Way bad guys," he explains, succinctly. "Technologically advanced and power-mad." He pauses, trying to remember what he had skim read from the hundreds of files given to him before coming to Atlantis. "Right?"

Beckett nods. "The same. However, the device can only be operated by someone with a specific marker in their blood stream, similar to the way the Jumpers only respond to someone with the Ancient gene. This particular marker is called naquadrah, and is produced when a Goa'uld possesses a human body."

Teyla frowns. "But these Goa'uld are your enemy?"

"Aye, but fortunately there is someone on the SGC who was once host to a Goa'uld, and who has some ability to use the healing device."

"Who?" Sheppard demands.

"Colonel Carter." Carson smiles wryly. "She and Rodney seem to be permanently linked."

He has met Carter, recognised in her a mind as brilliant as McKay's, but also a warmth and compassion that the Canadian never expresses. He knows Rodney has an ill-disguised crush on her, remembers the way a shivering, hypothermic McKay mumbled her name after being rescued from a waterlogged Jumper. But he doesn't know her, and needs to be sure. "Will she do it?"

"I've already contacted Earth and explained," Elizabeth answers. "The Colonel is happy to help."

Beckett raises a hand, to stall any further questions. "I should make it clear," he says, uncomfortably, "that this may not work. Like Ancient technology, the healing device requires a mental component in its operation, and Colonel Carter has not had the training or the experience of a Goa'uld. Her past success at using the device has been mixed, at best."

"But it is hope," Teyla says, warmly.

"Aye." Carson offers her an appreciative smile. "That it is."

"And if this works," Elizabeth says, "if Rodney recovers to the point when he can return, whether it be a month or a year from now - he can."

If. Sheppard's heart sinks. "So," he sums up, "McKay returns to Earth. If he's cured, he comes back, life goes on. If not, then he's left behind."

Elizabeth presses her lips together firmly, then says: "I wouldn't want to phrase it like that."

He growls, and pushes up from his chair angrily. "Phrase it any way you damn well like, Elizabeth. As long as I don't have to be the one to tell McKay we're throwing him out."

* * *

Sheppard goes to one of the small rooms designated for training purposes. His stormy exit has left him feeling shaky and weak, and he sinks down onto a bench with a grateful sigh.

He almost - _almost­ _- feels bad for his behaviour. For publicly undermining Elizabeth when she is only responsible for making the decision he can't bring himself to face.

The one unspoken rule in military command he has never been able to ignore. Don't leave men behind.

Even when their bodies are broken and bleeding, and he is only choosing between death in a hospital bed, or death on a foreign street. Even when the building has collapsed under missile fire, and there is little chance anyone has survived. Even when to do so means risking his own life, and jeopardising the mission.

And this is worse. This is _McKay_ - socially inept, arrogant, egotistical, self-centred, rude, a scientific genius and damned vocal about it. Selfish, obnoxious, obsessive, compulsive, a hypochondriac who has never suffered in silence and _damn it_, one of the best friends he has ever had.

He isn't naïve. He knows what Atlantis means to McKay, knows that the scientist is more in love with the city than he is, even though she doesn't respond as quickly or as willingly under the scientist's touch.

On the surface, they are entirely different people. Sheppard knows he should have almost nothing in common with Rodney. He is a brash, cocky airforce pilot; McKay is an arrogant SOB with the IQ of a super-genius. He has tried to educate the Canadian with Johnny Cash CDs (returned unopened) and a surfing lesson (ending in a twisted ankle), while McKay has lent him books with titles like 'Tying up String Theory,' and 'Deterministic Non-Linear Dynamical Systems 101,' which Sheppard has used to prop up the wobbly table in his bedroom.

McKay is a cat person; Sheppard always wanted a dog.

There is more than that.

They both love old sci-fi classics, and Back to the Future movies, although for different reasons. They shared the same boyhood crush on Olivia Newton John. They both had a tree house when they were kids, and their bedroom ceilings were festooned with tiny, glow-in the dark stars.

And neither of them have anything to return to on Earth.

McKay has Jeannie; Sheppard knows of Rodney's sister, of her existence. He also knows the pair are not close, that Jeannie has her own life and her brother plays no part in it.

He knows that McKay feels the same solitude as he does, although neither of them will put it into words. He has stumbled over phrases while Teyla listened patiently and guessed, and McKay has spoken into a video camera and admitted the truth.

Atlantis is home, and its people are family.

And now McKay is being ejected from that security because he risked his life to save Sheppard's own.

The door to the room slides open with a gentle hiss. Teyla stands in the space, hesitant, Ronon a shadow over her shoulder.

"Colonel?"

He sighs, rubbing absently at the wound on his neck. "Join the party, Teyla."

She slips into the room and sits down beside him, Ronon following. The Satedan looks as angry as Sheppard feels, his face dark and thunderous.

"You gonna let them kick McKay out?" he accuses.

Sheppard closes his eyes, as though he can hide from the runner's fury. "I don't have a choice."

"He should stay here."

"If it were possible," Teyla says, softly, "I believe Dr Beckett and Dr Weir would do everything they could."

"It's simple," Ronon says. "So McKay can't go on missions. He can still go off-world. We can clear the area first, make sure it's safe."

"And if the Wraith come?" Teyla argues. "If we are surprised? Do we risk our lives and Rodney's life because we cannot face a difficult decision?"

The Satedan takes a step forward, towering over Teyla. "You sound like you're on their side."

She stands, gaze steely, feet apart, small and petite in his shadow but just as intimidating. "There are no sides, Ronon. I am merely pointing out the reasons for Dr Weir's choice."

"He saved my life," Ronon growls. "Saved yours too, saved everyone's. This is no way to repay that debt."

"She's right," Sheppard says suddenly, sick of the fighting, sick of listening to Teyla and Ronon voice his own thoughts and fears and guilt. "Elizabeth made the only decision she could." And he knows it as the truth. It doesn't make the words any easier to say.

Ronon mutters something under his breath, then turns on his heel and stalks to the other side of the room. He looks like he needs something to hit; curls his right hand into a fist and punches it into the palm of his left.

"This device on Earth could help," Teyla says, sitting back down on the bench, but watching Ronon closely.

"It could fix him," Sheppard says, then adds, fiercely: "_Will _fix him." As though he can will it into reality.

"Relying on technology." Ronon shakes his head. "What if it doesn't?"

If. If isn't something Sheppard can face.

"What happened on the planet?" Ronon demands. "When you were hit?"

He shrugs. The back of his throat tastes bitter. "You know everything I do. I took a hit and was unconscious. McKay carried me to the Stargate. He took some fire as we went through the wormhole."

"We should have stayed together."

Sheppard shakes his head. He has been over it too many times, does not need Ronon echoing his own doubts. It angers him. "We split up to divide their attention."

"Then we should have come back for you."

It is enough to push him over the edge. "And you'd be in the bed next to McKay!" Sheppard shouts, pushing himself to his feet. "Or would you prefer a slab in the morgue?"

"That's what we do," Ronon says, turning back, glaring at Sheppard. "Better that than McKay."

"The hell it is!" The wound on his neck flares angrily, bright and pulsing hot, and he thinks it must be that which makes his words so difficult, so choked. "You think I haven't thought of that? You think I don't know that if McKay hadn't stopped to pull my ass back through the Stargate he wouldn't have been hit!"

"Colonel," Teyla says, timidly, and he knows its wrong, that Teyla should never sound timid.

He doesn't stop. He is shaking, his whole body is shaking with fury and frustration and Ronon is just the trigger. "So what, Ronon? You think McKay was wrong to do what he did? That he was stupid?"

Ronon's face is red. "That's not what I'm saying."

"That you'd rather see me dead than him a cripple?"

"That's not what I…"

"Because I would!" Sheppard finishes, then stops, horribly aware of all he's said, all he meant to keep hidden.

_Talk to someone_, Heightmeyer had told him. Not scream out his inner thoughts to what is left of his team.

Ronon narrows his gaze, face twisting into a grimace. He says: "You let him go too easily," then turns, and disappears out the door.

Slowly the rest of the room comes back into focus. Sheppard is aware of Teyla's hand on his arm, that she looks scared and torn.

"John."

He meets her gaze slowly, but can't say anything. His breath comes quick and hot and fast.

"You should sit down."

"Oh."

She moves her hand to beneath his elbow, and helps him take his seat back on the bench. His legs feel weak, like the two angry outbursts have used up all his energy for the week.

"Sorry," he says, feeling foolish.

"You should not apologise. We are all upset over what has happened."

"I shouldn't have reacted like that." Sheppard sighs. He can feel the pain from his neck more vividly now, fresh and ugly. "Ronon's right."

"No," she says, "he isn't. He is speaking from emotion, and from loyalty, and although I share his feelings, I believe he is a little more…" she pauses, clearly taking care with her words, "_hot-headed_ than most."

He stares at his lap. "Do you think it's the right decision?"

Teyla is silent for a moment, then says: "I do not believe there was any decision to be made. Dr McKay should return to Earth for his own sake, because there he has hope."

"I'm not so sure," he says, darkly.

"Were you lying? When you said this device might help?"

Sheppard is weary, tired of fake confidence. And Teyla has always been able to see through him. "I don't know," he admits. "Maybe. I don't know much about the Goa'uld, or Colonel Carter. I don't know what this thing is capable of."

She nods, then reaches out with one hand and wraps her fingers over his wrist, over his pulse point, racing beneath his skin.

"I am glad Rodney made the choice he did," she says, her voice rich and warm. "I believe that deep down, so is he."

It takes all his resolve not to pull away from her touch, Sheppard feels so sick and hollow, almost unclean. Instead he looks away, and tries to think of how he can apologise to Ronon.

"John."

He doesn't want to look up, afraid he can't hide his shame.

"Colonel."

Teyla releases her hold on his wrist, and he looks up to see an expression of alarm on her face.

"I should take you to the infirmary."

"What?"

She lifts one hand and reaches out towards his neck, then stops before she touches him. "You're bleeding."

"Oh." He smiles, blackly. "Carson will kill me."


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Notes: Thank you again for all the reviews, you guys are great!_

* * *

_Carson._

"Well," Carson says, bright and false, "that went well."

Elizabeth puts her elbows on the table and sinks her face into her hands. "Are we doing the right thing?"

He takes a breath, and says with conviction: "Yes." He _is_ sure; knows logically what is right for McKay. For his health, and for his future. And although it isn't enough to quiet his doubts, he refuses to voice them. Carson knows that although his recommendations play a large part, the decision is Elizabeth's alone to make, and to speak of his own emotions and guilt wouldn't be fair on her, or McKay.

"I hope so."

They still sit in the conference room. Not long after Sheppard's angry exit, Zelenka made excuses and left them alone. Now Beckett sits with doubt turning his stomach over, and Elizabeth's hands shake when she lifts them from the table.

He takes one in his own, squeezing her fingers gently.

"As his doctor, I have to be impartial. I would recommend that anyone in his position be sent to Earth to receive the best care available."

She nods, lifting her head and smiling gratefully at him. "I know. And as leader of Atlantis, I have to be just as impartial. But it's difficult. We both know what the city means to him."

"Aye." He sighs, knowing she means more than the physical structure around them. "And that works both ways."

She looks away, separating their fingers and rising from the table. "I should tell him, sooner than later."

He gets up with her, watching the way Elizabeth's shoulders set determinedly beneath her shirt. It is times like this he is grateful he is only part of the chain, who makes recommendations for others to review and decide upon. He isn't the one who sends people home, or who writes letters to a bereaved family.

He knew it would be part of the Atlantis mission, but before stepping through the Stargate, he had never understood it. He suspects neither did Elizabeth.

They walk down the corridor towards the transporter in silence. Beckett thinks of Lieutenant Ford. How he has always regretted not being able to help the man, to return Aiden to his grandparents waiting on Earth.

The transporter takes them a hundred yards from the infirmary's entrance. Carson remembers the times he has walked this floor before, the way the place he has taken as his home can become foreboding and intimidating when he is faced with having to give terrible news.

_I'm afraid we had no choice but to amputate…_

_It's possible you'll regain your sight, yes…_

_There's nothing we can do._

_I'm sorry._

He glances at Elizabeth as they walk through the doors. "I'll come with you," he says, softly.

She looks at him, pressing her lips together, then shakes her head. "If he wants to speak to you after, of course. But I should tell him alone."

Beckett considers disagreeing, but stays silent. He sees the way Elizabeth hesitates before parting the curtains, the way her jaw clenches and the fingers of her left hand curl into her palm.

"Rodney. Are you awake?"

She steps past the curtains. The fabric falls together in her wake.

Beckett looks around the infirmary. A young marine lies fast asleep three beds down, his fractured wrist set in plaster. Nurse Simmons sits in the corner at a desk, typing, but she stops when she sees Beckett looking at her.

"Doctor?"

His gaze shifts uneasily towards the curtains, then back. "You must need a break," he says, deliberately. "If you want to get something to eat, I'll be here for a while."

She glances towards McKay's bed, then nods, getting up from the computer. "Thank you. Would you like anything?"

He shakes his head, taking her vacated seat and sitting down. "Thank you."

Maggie hesitates, seeming to struggle with a thought; then she shakes her head. "I'll be back in ten."

He nods, gaze drifting to the computer screen. He hears the infirmary doors open, then close as she leaves.

Behind the curtains, Elizabeth starts to speak.

She says: "I'm sorry, Rodney…"

* * *

When McKay asks to be moved to a private room, Carson agrees. 

He doesn't like the arrangement, but he doesn't feel he has much choice. He is tired of seeing McKay's team sat around his bed carrying on one-sided conversations, of having to forcibly eject an unhappy Zelenka or a pissed off Sheppard when Rodney decides he can't be bothered pretending to sleep. He hates the black cloud that has descended upon the infirmary, the way any visitors, patients or staff look towards the curtains with expressions of pity, and of fear. McKay's injury has reminded everyone of how vulnerable they all are; that they are all risking their lives to be here, and even the most prominent and visible of them can be ruined.

So he agrees, and ten days after returning through the Stargate, McKay finds a new way to hide.

At least, Beckett thinks, approaching McKay's room, it will appease his nurses. He has taken on the majority of Rodney's care himself, with the aid of his most stubborn and thick-skinned nurse. Mostly from guilt, he thinks. As though by submitting to McKay's desire for privacy he can repent for his failure as a surgeon, as a doctor, and as a friend.

He saw the way Elizabeth looked when she left McKay's bedside. The way she pushed the curtains aside and then just stood for a moment, silently, head hung low. Broken.

Then Carson deliberately clicked across the keyboard, and watched Elizabeth wipe a hand across her eyes, straighten her posture, tilt her chin up.

Composing herself. For an irrational moment he hated the scientist for not making things easier on those around him.

Now Beckett stands outside the door to McKay's room, taking a moment to prepare himself before thinking it open.

It has been six days since Carson told Rodney he would not walk unaided again. This morning Elizabeth explained to the scientist that he would be returning to Earth.

Carson can't shake the feeling that he has stuck a knife in his friend's back.

The door opens. The room is clean and bright, with large windows on one wall. There are blinds from floor to ceiling, and it is already a battle to keep them open, with McKay preferring the dark.

Today the scientist is awake, and sitting up with pillows behind his back. A laptop is balanced on a table over the bed, and his hands rest on the keyboard at an odd angle, wrists bent sharply. Beckett's gaze takes in the tray of uneaten food on a shelf, and sighs unhappily.

"You haven't eaten again, Rodney."

The scientist doesn't take his eyes off the screen. Carson is beginning to regret his decision to allow the machine in the room. When Zelenka delivered it, mumbling awkwardly about how McKay needed to finish his projects before he left, Carson had just been relieved to provide some sort of distraction. The Canadian had never once asked for his laptop; offers of DVDs and books had been rejected; only an I-pod seemed to agree with him, and Carson suspected it was only because the player gave McKay yet another means of sealing himself off from the world.

The laptop had become another part of that wall, with Rodney hiding all expression, voice and feeling behind its screen.

Carson moves around the bed to examine the IV of painkillers still plugged into McKay's arm. He catches a glimpse of the computer screen, of a game of solitaire that McKay seems to be losing.

"I don't need that anymore," McKay says, the man who cries bloody murder at a paper cut.

"I'll be the judge," Carson says, but he reduces the dose slightly. In less than two days McKay will be returning to Earth on the Daedalus, and then he will have to manage his own pain control.

"Dr Weir explained her reasons for…"

"Throwing me out?" McKay moves the mouse and starts a new game.

"Hardly that, Rodney." By now he is used to the terse answers and long, sullen silences, but this time something gets his ire up. Maybe it's his own frustration, frustration at his inability to help. Part of him wonders if he isn't turning Rodney away to be someone else's problem because he can't face the failure.

Or maybe it's because he heard the pain in Elizabeth's voice when she told McKay he was returning home. The decision Rodney had to have known was coming.

"_I'm so sorry, Rodney. But if the healing device works…"_

"_If."_

"She told you about Colonel Carter's plan?" he asks, keeping his tone cool.

"If you mean that my future is now in the hands of a woman who was host to a Goa'uld for all of five minutes, and a device which is so complex no one on Earth has figured out how it works?"

"It's hope," Carson says, echoing Elizabeth's own words. He is aware of his heart rate picking up, despite attempts to control his feelings.

McKay continues to stare at the screen, apparently intent on the card game.

"Oh, yes. And so is prayer. I have the same amount of faith in either. But it's obviously enough to soothe yours and Elizabeth's consciences?"

"This is the best thing for you," Carson says, more loudly than he intends. "We don't have the resources…"

"To cope with a cripple?" McKay interrupts.

Beckett flinches at the word. "To help, Rodney. That's what we're trying to do. If you'd let us."

"You shouldn't bother."

It is enough to push Carson over the edge, to tip the scales onto fury. "Dammit Rodney, would you rather we had let you bleed to death on the 'gateroom floor?"

McKay's fingers stop typing. "Better that than this."

"For Christ's sake!" He wants to grab the scientist by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. "Stop being so bloody self-absorbed for once!"

Rodney lifts his head just enough to shoot a dark, thunderous look at the Scot. "I'm sorry. Last time I checked, I was the one in the bed waiting to be shipped home as damaged goods."

"That's not what we're doing and you damn well know it!" His face feels hot, his hands sweaty, but he can't stop. "You're playing the martyr!"

"I've lost my career, my future, and…" McKay hesitates, then says defiantly: "Tell me what could be worse."

"You could be dead!" Carson shouts. "You and John could both be dead but you're not! You're still alive, and that's more than can be said for dozens of good people who've lost their lives for this city! Peter, Gaul, Griffin…"

He stops, suddenly horribly aware of his words. He doesn't need to see McKay's face to know he has gone too far.

"God… Rodney, I'm sorry."

McKay's hands are shaking as he holds them over the keyboard, his gaze turning back towards the screen.

"Rodney." Carson reaches out to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, then stops himself, holds himself back. "I didn't mean to say that."

"Yes you did." The response is flat and emotionless. "I think we're done, Carson."

He opens his mouth to protest, but McKay is gazing at the keyboard, pale and without expression. Carson feels sick.

"I'll be back later," he says, and it's his turn to hide, to cover himself in the persona of doctor, not friend. "To change your bandages."

McKay doesn't say anything. All Carson can hear is the man's fingers against the keys of the laptop.


	5. Chapter 5

_Radek_

Radek has never lacked ambition; would never have got to the position he was in when Stargate Command called if he had not always sought promotion, acknowledgement, respect. But he has never wanted to head the Atlantis science department. The job requires life and death decisions, choices made in a split second over what can be sacrificed, and who can be saved.

He has seen the way those moments haunt McKay, when the Canadian thinks he is alone in the lab, late at night, hunched over unfinished work.

Radek has never wanted a part of that. He likes being unobtrusive, of being in the position to produce solutions to problems, but he also likes the time to think, to check all possibilities. McKay operates on intuition and instinct.

The marines are all adrenaline-junkies, because being living, breathing targets for enemy fire is not enough for them. They hang-glide, they surf, they abseil. Extreme sports.

Zelenka has never liked any sport. He is always the one in the back, in a position which requires the least amount of aggression or drive. He likes observing the scrum from afar.

In two years he has been asked to produce quick-fire solutions only a handful of times. To save the city from the Storm, to power the shield, to cloak their home. Each time has left him feeling nauseated and shaky.

On the surface McKay seems to thrive on it. He postures and preens and pretends he is being asked to achieve the impossible, then finds a solution, and when he has saved everyone's lives wears an expression which asks, _'did you ever doubt me?'_

Zelenka does not know if he can fill his friend's shoes, or if he will crumple and fold, and Atlantis will burn for his failure.

His fears, it seems, are shared by the science department.

He is liked within their numbers, considered as bright as McKay, but far less hostile. He remembers their names - although he knows McKay has everyone memorised, the Canadian just likes to feign dumb ignorance - and says hello, and asks them about their day. He has shared drinks with them, has sat on their table in the mess, has swapped music and books and movies.

But he is not McKay, will never be able to fill the void that will be left in the man's absence. Dr Weir asked if he was capable of heading the science department, and he said yes, but that is not the same as replacing McKay.

That is something he will never be able to do.

For all their gripes and half-hearted resentment, the scientists _like_ McKay. His ego has become an in-joke, since in the time since leaving Earth even the meekest, like Miko, have learnt how to approach McKay in the right way. Zelenka sometimes thinks of the man like an unfriendly cat, who will scratch and hiss at strangers but if stroked in just the right way, will uncurl and allow others to share his territory.

He would never dare voice this analogy to McKay.

The Atlantean scientists have taken to deliberately setting new Daedalus crew members up. Assuring them of McKay's friendly status, then watching the sparks when the newbies blunder into the worst of the physicist's moods.

McKay would hate it, but the fact is, the man is predictable. He is a constant; irritating, obnoxious, rude yes, but also dependable. He entertains illusions of godhood but when the city is in trouble, when certain doom seems inevitable, it isn't to religion that its inhabitants first turn.

News of McKay's injury spread fast. Rumours circulated that he was badly hurt, that recovery would take months, but no one ever believed that recovery was impossible.

After his meeting with Weir and the rest of the command staff, Zelenka went to the science labs and called an impromptu meeting. He stood amidst a crowd of worried faces and told them that McKay is returning home, and he will be taking Rodney's place as department head.

He told them that there is every hope this will be temporary. No one seemed to believe him.

The scientists are twitchy, nervous. One or two have come to congratulate him on the unexpected promotion, but their words were half-hearted, and he hates hearing them.

A silence has descended on the labs, uncomfortable and tense. When people talk, it is in small voices and hushed tones, and there is no laughter.

When Miko drops her third glass beaker in as many days, Radek decides he has had enough.

He calls Ashcroft over, and points at the computer in front of him.

"There are some odd power fluctuations coming from the sub level, section C."

Ashcroft hmms thoughtfully. "Could be one of the capacitors has burnt out. Want me to go take a look?"

"No," Radek says. "I will go. You can take the lead here while I am gone?"

David looks surprised, and Radek realises he is the only one to have thought of appointing a second, his own Radek to himself as McKay.

"Sure," the other man says, then looks around the room. "It's all quiet anyway."

Precisely, Radek thinks. He closes his laptop and tucks it under one arm, then picks up a small roll-bag of tools.

The corridors are busier than usual, full of personnel preparing for the departure of the Daedalus. The sobering effect of McKay's injury only extends to the Atlantis crew; to their Earth-bound colleagues, Rodney is yet another casualty in a dangerous mission, though a well-known name.

Radek passes three Daedalus crew members lugging a large crate towards the nearest transporter. He can hear them grunt with effort, and bicker good-naturedly with each other, joking about its contents.

He feels an irrational hatred towards them, just for a moment. As though they are rude and tactless, not to appreciate the sense of loss the Atlanteans feel.

Section C is several miles away from the labs, in an unused portion of the city. Repairing a capacitor is a simple job, but this is one of several which has blown in the past month and McKay theorized the cause as a failed buffer, causing momentary power surges in the area. To repair a buffer is a complicated job, and a grumble from Radek's stomach tells the Czech that if he is to spend his afternoon working on it, he needs something to keep him going.

He heads to the mess, planning his snack. Ham, brought by the Daedalus, and a smear of mustard, and slices of those not-quite-tomatoes grown by the Athosians. Fresh bread. Some sort of fruit.

His stomach growls a second time.

The mess hall is mostly empty, with several servers walking the room, clearing up the debris left from lunch. Two Atlantean soldiers sit in one corner, a man and a woman, talking close and clearly unaware of anyone else in the room. In the other corner sits a morose Colonel Sheppard, stirring the remains of a casserole around and around a bowl.

Zelenka walks across to the serving line, and is pleased to find all the ingredients for his desired sandwich, plus - miracle of miracles - a solitary chocolate muffin. He selects both items, ready to take them with him to Atlantis' sub-level, then changes his mind and puts them on a tray.

He takes a seat opposite Colonel Sheppard.

The other man looks up and gives him a smile. "Radek. Late lunch?"

"Yes. We are busy, as always." He tears the sandwich into two more manageable halves, then takes a bite. The mustard has a sharp taste, and the bread is soft.

"Yeah." Sheppard gives him an odd look, then says, hesitantly: "If you need a hand, activating Ancient devices…"

Zelenka blinks. It is for McKay that Sheppard visits the labs, activating Ancient toys with a shared enthusiasm. For Sheppard to offer his genes to Radek seems wrong.

"Since Elizabeth has given the team some downtime, I have less to do than usual. Actually," he adds, and the segue is awkward and clumsy, "next week we're due to go off-world, and we need a scientist."

Radek stops chewing for a second, the sandwich suddenly tasting bitter. "You have asked McKay?" he says.

Something in Sheppard's eyes turns hard and flinty.

"For a recommendation," Radek says quickly, nervously. "I realise his position will need to be temporarily filled."

"Yeah," says Sheppard, drawling and unconvinced. "You know, since you're now the head of science, the position falls to you."

Zelenka swallows. He isn't naïve; he has thought of the possibility, and quite frankly the idea of travelling through the Stargate is a terrifying one. He has been off world before, but to worlds declared safe and cleared of hostiles.

The first thought that comes to his mind is, _I do not want to end up like Rodney_. It is selfish and impulsive and he hates himself for thinking it.

"I will need to think about it," he says. "Not that I am not flattered, Colonel, but do you not think it is a little soon?"

Sheppard pushes his chair back an inch. The legs scrape against the floor unpleasantly. "We need a scientist," he says, evenly. "You're a scientist. A damn good one. There's no adjustment to be made."

Radek flinches. He does not like the coldness in Sheppard's voice, and suspects it comes from a dark place the soldier has previously hidden from others. He wonders what part Rodney has played in this. Two men shutting themselves away from the world.

They are too alike, he thinks.

"I was speaking of the science department," he lies, less than smoothly. "Any change in management takes time. I would be reluctant to leave them without appointing someone to take my place."

"They'll manage," Sheppard says. "They have before."

"Can I…" Radek pauses, "I need time to consider. I am not keen on off-world missions."

"Neither was McKay," Sheppard says, and the use of the man's surname does not go unnoticed by Radek.

The Colonel has always been a mystery to him. Outwardly laid back and easy going, the man hides a core of determination and ruthlessness, seen only in times of great stress, when lives were threatened - and not his own. Zelenka was aware of initial rumblings from unhappy marines when Sheppard took Colonel Sumner's role, but now the soldiers have nothing but immense respect for their impromptu commander. The city would not function without his personality, without his sacrifice, and the odd relationship he has with McKay is an important part of that.

But then McKay was injured in the process of saving Sheppard's life, and while the Colonel is now ready to return to his life, McKay's may have changed forever.

The guilt is a given, Zelenka thinks. He expects Sheppard to take on the blame for McKay's wound, however irrational that might be. But he does not expect that would ever stop the Colonel from going to McKay when the scientist is in most need of help.

There is something more here, but he does not know what, and is too terrified to ask.

There is too much guilt, Radek thinks. It is in the air, suffocating those who should be ignoring McKay's attempts to hide, and if it continues it will not only be Rodney in need of healing.

This is why he says what he says, the reasoning behind the risk he takes. "You should speak to Rodney."

If looks could kill, Radek would have been charbroiled and served up as dinner.

"You think I haven't tried?"

"I think you have not tried hard enough." He is unable to hide the flinch, as though expecting Sheppard to hit him. He isn't sure he would blame the soldier if he did, aware he is overstepping some invisible boundary.

A vein in Sheppard's neck twitches. "You have no idea," he says, pushing up from the table abruptly. "If you decide to join the team, then you're welcome. I'll be recommending your inclusion to Elizabeth." He picks up his tray and heads to the disposal area, thrusting the contents back at the servers without a word.

Radek watches his back as he leaves, and can't help wondering if he has made things worse.

* * *

It turns out to be the buffer, just as Rodney had theorized. Radek has a replacement sent down, and the entire removal and replacement job takes a little under four hours. He sits on the floor of the darkened corridor and takes apart the casing of the original carefully, checking that the problem is not one that can be easily duplicated. 

Twice he thinks he has forgotten to turn his radio off, to bask in the beautiful peace that comes from knowing an irritated and impatient McKay cannot contact him. He clutches at the device, slightly panicking, but relief does not come upon remembering.

He is now the leader 'on call,' every moment, of every day.

Despite this, no one contacts him in that time, except to announce that the replacement buffer is on its way.

Job finally finished, he puts his tools back into the soft bag and stretches, working out a kink in his lower back. The sandwich and muffin have long been forgotten, and now he thinks about getting back in time to join the last of the dinner queues. Slowly, wary of the way his legs prickle with pins and needles, he gets up and heads for the nearest transporter, thinking of vegetable stir fry and how he hopes the cooks haven't used the same amount of chilli sauce as last time.

Ronon's presence takes him entirely by surprise. The Runner steps out from an alcove into Zelenka's path, and Radek cannot restrain a small, startled gasp.

"Sorry," the larger man grunts, not looking apologetic in the slightest.

"My fault," Radek says, automatically. He takes in the Runner's appearance - slightly flushed, sweat on his forehead and clinging to his odd clothes - his usual trousers and a shirt of an odd tan material Radek has never seen before. "You were jogging?"

Somehow he cannot imagine the Satedan doing something so sedate. Sure enough, Ronon flashes white teeth and says: "Racing."

"Who?" Zelenka asks, looking to the side to peer for any second figure in the distance.

"Me."

"Ah," he says, not understanding at all. He has never spoken much with the Runner, finding Ronon intimidating, and Ronon has never made any effort to speak to him. Rodney treats the man no differently to the way he treats anyone else - with sarcasm and sharp retorts, always speaking his mind without thinking first. Radek wonders if that is why Ronon has always appeared to regard McKay with warm amusement.

He shifts nervously beneath Ronon's shadow, hands playing with the tool-bag. "So…" he says, at a loss for words.

"You look alike," Ronon says, abruptly.

Radek blinks, confused. "To who?"

"McKay. Not like that." Ronon gestures at the Czech, at his glasses and rebellious, thinning hair. "When you're working."

Zelenka realises suddenly the reason for Ronon's appearance. It is evident the man was running, just as he claimed, but Radek knows that Ronon is not the sort of man to take a break, or to hide in alcoves where he cannot be seen.

He wonders for how long he was being watched.

"Oh," he says, uncertain of how to respond. Then, impulsively, without thinking: "Colonel Sheppard has asked me to join your team."

Ronon's body language changes immediately. He straightens, seeming to grow half a foot taller, and his eyes narrow, one foot taking a step forward. He says: "Sheppard didn't tell me."

"He has only just asked," Radek says, quickly. "And I have not yet said yes."

Ronon raises an eyebrow. "Not decided?"

"No." Radek tries to assess the Runner, to see through his hostile façade. He fails, utterly, and decides to plough ahead regardless. "To be honest, it feels too soon. Rodney has not left Atlantis yet. There is every chance he will be back in six weeks, completely healed. To make such a replacement is moving too quickly."

"You think this will work?"

Radek squirms beneath the accusatory gaze. "Honestly?" He has spent several nights poring over the SGC files on the Goa'uld healing device, and now feels as knowledgeable as the scientists researching it. "I do not know. Colonel Carter does not have experience of using it successfully. I would have more confidence if a Tok'ra was operating the device but they, apparently, have their own problems, and will not come to the SGC's beck and call."

"They should," Ronon growls. "This government of yours should demand it."

"It is not that easy." His answers sound weak and feeble.

"Seems easy to me. McKay's needed here. So they fix him." He shakes his head, dreadlocks bouncing off his shoulders. "But nobody's fighting for him."

Radek sighs. The pain in his lower back blossoms, and he moves to lean against the wall. "It may seem like that."

"It _is_ like that. Beckett and Weir shipping him off because they say it's best. Why not bring the device here?"

"Because…" Radek pauses, his throat dry. He has asked the question, and knows the answer, though he has been reluctant to admit it. "Because if this does not work, Rodney will need to remain on Earth. It would not be fair to make him wait only for him to return home anyway."

Ronon grunts, clearly unhappy with the answer. He leans against the wall beside Zelenka, taking a draft from a bottle of water he holds in one hand.

Radek stares at the wall opposite. "Have you spoken to him?"

"McKay doesn't want to speak to anyone. I'm going to respect that."

He pulls a face. "I do not like doing that."

"It's what he wants."

"Perhaps." He glances at the Runner. "Has Colonel Sheppard spoken with him?"

Ronon frowns, and pushes himself off the wall. "Sheppard's decision is his own." His body is back in hostile mode, dark glare in full force.

Radek perseveres, regardless. "You should see him. Regardless of what McKay thinks he wants. The man is stubborn. I have found it is best to ignore what he wants."

The Runner shakes his head again, moving away.

"He leaves tomorrow," Radek says. "It may be the last chance for any of you."

Ronon lifts his head and gives Radek a strange, intense look. "Yours too." Then he turns, and takes off down the corridor, legs and arms pumping in perfect synchronicity.

There is nothing Radek can think of to say to that.

* * *

Radek goes to see him under the pretence of needing to discuss unfinished projects and ongoing work.

He is glad McKay has his own room, because now no one can see what a hollow pretence it really is.

Zelenka feels guilty; guilty for the part he played in what he can't help seeing as Rodney's downfall. Discussing the theories McKay will now never see bear fruit feels like driving the knife in a little deeper, so he is secretly quite glad Rodney refuses to speak to him.

But it is frustrating. As well as his second in command, as well as his replacement, Radek considers himself Rodney's friend. Carson tells him McKay is depressed; Radek sees the depression as a wall, behind which the physicist can hide from any reminder of what he is leaving behind. This is not how Radek wants Rodney to spend his last few days on Atlantis - under a cloud of misery and self-enforced solitude.

He comes armed with papers and a laptop of his own, and arrives in the doorway greeting McKay with a matter of fact: "You may choose to ignore me, Rodney, but I choose to ignore you ignoring me. If you get sick of this game, then you must be the first to stop it. I can be as stubborn as you."

McKay sits in the bed tapping at a laptop of his own. His injured leg is uncovered by blankets, and Radek can see thick blankets and the blue of a cast. He does not hide his look as he passes.

"Looks uncomfortable."

This prompts a derisive snort from McKay. "You have no idea."

"No, I do not." Radek sits on a chair Carson's staff have placed beside the bed, and starts to arrange his work. "Perhaps this is because you refuse to speak to anyone about it. Even Beckett has to guess."

"What can I say?" McKay retorts. "It hurts. A lot. All of the time."

Radek nods, says sadly: "I am sorry for that."

Again McKay snorts, but says nothing further, apparently deciding the conversation is over.

Radek does not agree. He pulls a folder from the pile and opens it at the first sheet. "Have you looked at the twelve month forecast for power consumption of the ZPM?" He left the files with McKay two days previously, in the hope it would prompt some normal reaction from the scientist - even if that reaction was to bury himself in work.

It obviously hasn't worked. "You're in charge now, it's your responsibility."

"It would make things much easier for me if you could provide notes on your ongoing projects. There is some work I have had no part in."

"Oh, yes, and that's my key concern. How to make things easier for you." McKay shuts his laptop and pushes the tray aside. "I'm tired."

He chooses not to get the hint. "You are always tired."

Rodney struggles against the pillows, trying to make himself comfortable and clearly failing, his leg making the job impossible. His face draws tight with pain, and Radek hears the other man gasp.

He is glad Rodney never sees him flinch. "Can I help?"

"No!" McKay snaps back, voice shaky. "I'm fine." He collapses against the pillows, clearly not.

Radek looks away, down at his work. "If you do not want to discuss power consumption, then perhaps the shield? I understand you had several theories on how we could…"

"No," McKay interrupts. "Not power, the shield, weapons, anything else. I don't care, Zelenka. It's no longer my problem."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I'm going back to Earth tomorrow, and I'm not coming back. Atlantis no longer has anything to do with me."

He puts down the paper and says: "The healing device may help you."

"It won't," McKay says, savagely. " Carson likes to pretend it will because it soothes his conscience but trust me, take a look at the work done on it. Carter can't even operate the damn thing."

It is too close to the truth.

Radek watches McKay carefully, sees the way Rodney's hands tightly clutch the sheets, the way he directs his comments at the ceiling. Sometimes, he thinks, to hope for success is harder than accepting failure.

"If you are wrong," he says, mildly, "then I think you will regret having behaved like this."

McKay growls, and tries to roll over, to turn his back on Radek, without success. His leg pins him to the mattress.

Radek ignores the gesture. "You snap at everyone, if you speak at all, but anger is not helping, McKay, and neither is sulking."

He is treated to silence, but persists anyway.

"I will not belittle what you are going through, Rodney, but this is not the right way to cope. You may not admit it, but you have friends on Atlantis, and though you make it hard for them, now more than ever, they still want to help."

"Help?" McKay scoffs. "Help is sending me back to Earth?"

"Where there is hope."

"Where they can forget about me."

Radek throws up his hands, disgusted. "You are so blind! You refuse to see how this affects everyone around you!"

McKay twists, pushing himself up on his arms to glare at Radek. "Affects _them_!"

" Carson works night and day scouring the Atlantis database for some device which will guarantee your recovery. Ronon will not speak with anyone because he wants someone to blame, and Teyla is burdened with keeping the peace. Colonel Sheppard is shutting everyone out because he believes he is responsible for the failure of the mission and I must deal with the constant questions from all quarters on how we will possibly cope without your insufferable leadership!"

He stops, breathless, and when McKay starts to turn an odd shade of pink wonders if he has said too much.

"You need to listen," he says quickly, before McKay can start to rant, "because you are right about one thing, Rodney. You may not get another chance to undo all of this. And if you keep pushing people away, eventually they will stop pushing back."

McKay's lips press together until they are nothing but a thin line, and Radek expects to be the victim of venom unleashed, of anger and shouting until Carson comes in to the sedate the man.

Instead McKay says, in a voice entirely unlike his own: "Get out."

And Radek obeys, because he is devastated, because he thought that he could penetrate the walls around McKay and have the man voice some emotion, even if that emotion was rage. He wants McKay to be angry, wants him to be truly furious, because at least that would be a reaction both expected and understood.

Instead he gathers up his belongings and leaves the room obediently, with McKay's gaze burrowing deep into his back.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Notes: Apologies for the slight delay between updates! It's been insane at work. This is a short chapter, but for my penance I give you two chapters in one night. Again, thank you so much for the reviews!__

* * *

_

_Radek_

Radek goes to see Rodney leave, but not in the way he would want.

He heads to the outlying section of Atlantis, where the Daedalus rests amidst the waves. He has already searched the database and maps, and found the best position to stand. A balcony, thirty floors up, curving around a glass tower that - thank god! - has its own transporter.

He stands beside the railings, and watches tiny figures move back and forth along the access ramp. Over the past thirty minutes their movements have slowed; fewer have been laden with boxes or trolleys bearing equipment, and now most movement is toward the ship.

Elizabeth offered to gate McKay back to Earth, but the physicist turned her down. No one can understand why, but Radek thinks he knows McKay well enough to guess. Three more weeks of waiting means more time to hide from the truth, to cling to the possibility that he may yet come out of this unscathed. He is not too different to McKay, and in his position Radek knows he would be terrified. But Rodney would rather shut everyone out and wallow in solitude and self-pity than admit it.

After the argument, he felt there was little more he could say to his friend. Nothing that McKay will ever listen to.

Not until he reaches Earth, anyway.

Radek puts his hands on the railings. The air is crisp and cold, the sky bright blue and dotted with small, fluffy clouds. It is a beautiful day.

There are only a few stragglers now moving toward the Daedalus, disappearing into its depths. Radek checks his watch. A few minutes until departure. Barring Wraith attack, the Daedalus has always left exactly on time. Colonel Caldwell keeps his ship running as though it were an extension of his own personality - efficient, orderly, obeying every rule and always ready to overcome any obstacle.

"Dr Zelenka."

He turns, a little too quickly, and has to battle vertigo. "Teyla," he says, surprised.

She stands in the doorway, one hand on the frame, lingering on the threshold hesitantly. "Am I disturbing you?"

"No, please." Radek gestures for her to come forward, feeling slightly nervous. He does not know Teyla very well, but recognises in her the same determined, ruthless protectiveness that Ronon exhibits; albeit with warmth where the Satedan displays aggression. She is both alien and familiar, and the dichotomy is not one he has ever come to terms with.

Teyla stands beside him, looking over the balcony. Below them the Daedalus' hatch is closing, slowly, warning sirens blaring and the noise echoing around the large space, bouncing off surrounding walls.

"You are here to watch him go?"

Him. He smiles, ruefully, at her perception. "Yes. You too?"

She nods, running her hands over the metal rail of the balcony edge. "I went to the infirmary but was turned away."

Radek never tried. He had guessed what the reaction would be, and did not relish a repeat of last time. "Was anyone there?"

She seems to recognise his meaning, because she answers: "Doctor Weir waited outside, for a short while. But Rodney told Doctor Beckett that since she was no longer technically in charge of him, he did not need to agree to her commands."

He nods, sighing softly. "McKay is the most stubborn person I have ever known. He can be like a child."

"I wanted to be there, even if he refused to speak to me."

"Carson was there," he offers, knowing that at the very least, McKay could not have turned away Atlantis' chief physician.

"Yes." She frowns, and says unconvincingly: "That is something."

"Did Colonel Sheppard…" he pauses, uncertainly. "Did he speak to Rodney before, do you know?"

Teyla shakes her head, sweeping her hair back from her eyes with one hand. "No. I believe he tried, but was turned away. We are all in the same position, it seems."

"Shut out," he says, quietly.

"And watching."

He glances at her, confused. Teyla stretches out an arm and points out from the balcony, across the wide open space to a tower opposite. The spire is taller than their own, but Radek knows that it does not have a transporter, only hundreds of stairs, and had therefore discounted it as a viewing platform.

He leans a little forward and squints, pushing his glasses up his nose with one finger. Through a thin haze he can just make out a figure sitting on the very edge of the balcony, legs dangling off the edge recklessly and arms resting on the middle railing. He immediately recognises the gangly form as Sheppard.

"This is foolish," he says vehemently. "Rodney needs to speak to someone, to admit his fears, but the Colonel cannot see past his own guilt to force the issue."

She smiles, sadly. "They are like brothers, even when they argue."

"If I could shut them both in a room…" Radek shakes his head, scowling.

"They would reconcile?"

"Or kill each other."

Teyla laughs. "Possibly."

Below them, the Daedalus begins to power up. Radek has left his radio on, and can hear the Canadian gate tech as he runs through the pre-launch sequence with the Earth crew.

Teyla turns to look at Radek, her expression sober. "Do you think that is why they do not speak? Because of guilt?"

He shrugs. "It would be like them both."

"I am not so sure."

Radek glances at her, frowning, noticing the way Teyla holds her body, stiff and on edge. "You think it is something else?"

Teyla looks away, out towards Sheppard's balcony. "Something has been said. I do not believe the Colonel would desert Doctor McKay unless he was convinced Rodney did not need him."

"And yet he is here," Radek says, gesturing outwards.

"Yes. I worry…" She pauses, then says slowly: "It is quite different to accept the blame, than to be accused of bearing the fault."

It takes Radek a moment to process her words, but when he does, he reacts with both anger and pain. "You think Rodney blames Colonel Sheppard?"

Teyla says nothing; doesn't need to. Her explanation explains Sheppard's actions perfectly, Radek realises, and he is suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of frustration. McKay is now aboard the Daedalus, ensconced in its infirmary and on his way to Earth, and it is too late to go to him, to yell at him for being such a stupid, self-absorbed fool. This cannot be fixed; not now, and possibly not ever. Radek wants to scream, to shout at the world for ever bringing two such stubborn idiots together, for making them friends only to tear them apart.

Instead he says: "Rodney saved the Colonel's life. He might have said words to the contrary, but I know he would not want things to be different."

Teyla sighs deeply, folding her arms across her chest. "I agree. But words have been said. Rodney because he is in pain and afraid, the Colonel because he already believed the fault was his, and now sees this as vindication of that guilt."

The engine noise swells as the Daedalus begins to take off. Radek can feel the vibrations through his feet. Conversation becomes impossible but he can still make out the occasional snippet of voices from the radio, and hears Weir wish Caldwell 'god speed.'

The great ship starts to rise from the city below with a strange, slow, oversized elegance. A powerful wind buffets the balcony and Radek takes an immediate step back, watching as the Daedalus rises, rises, rise until it is parallel with his line of vision. He can see straight across to its jagged surface, can see the scars which line its casing, the intricate shadows formed within its folds. Then it is above him, above Atlantis, picking up speed as it pulls away out of orbit.

There, on a beautiful spring day, without either pomp or circumstance, Dr Rodney McKay leaves Atlantis.

When the ship is not even a speck, Radek looks through the thinning mist the Daedalus has left in its wake to the opposite spire. Sheppard's balcony is empty.


	7. Chapter 7

_Three weeks later…_

* * *

_Daniel_

He finds Sam in the canteen, sat on an empty table absently stirring what was once a glass of green jello, but now is liquid slush. Unappetising slush. She has clearly been here a while, because lunch was served an hour ago.

There is enough in a remaining vat to constitute a portion, and with no sign of any canteen staff Daniel helps himself. He fills a plate with rice and chilli, lukewarm, and heads over to Sam's table.

"Please tell me you're not going to eat that," he says, nodding at the jello.

Sam looks up guiltily, dropping the spoon. "Daniel. Sorry. I guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought."

He takes a seat on the bench opposite, putting the tray on the table. "Busy thinking about something else?" he asks, deliberately.

Sam smiles, ruefully. "The Daedalus is almost in orbit. He'll be here in the next half hour."

"Are you, y'know…" Daniel gestures vaguely with his fork. "Are you going to go straight to the infirmary?"

"There's no point in waiting. Either this works or it doesn't."

He doesn't like it when Carter is blunt. "Vala could…"

"I know," she interrupts. "And she knows she's on call."

Daniel tries to imagine the look on Vala's face when she was told she was back up. "Amidst much protesting?"

"A little," Sam admits. "She doesn't know McKay."

"And you do?" he probes.

She frowns. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, taking a mouthful of chilli. It tastes heavily of tomatoes and pepper. "You'd want to help anyone in the same position, I know that. But it's harder if you know the person."

Sam visibly winces, and Daniel immediately regrets his words, remembering that she once tried to save his own life - and failed.

He continues quickly, "I'm just a little surprised, that's all. It's obviously affecting you. I know you've worked with McKay, but that isn't exactly the same as 'quality time.' And," he adds, trying to lighten the mood, "the man is so…"

"Rude?" Sam suggests. "Arrogant? Self-absorbed, tactless, egotistical?"

"Prickly," he decides upon. He has had little contact with McKay, and what conversation he has shared has been less than two-way.

She laughs. "Very diplomatic."

"So?"

"He's all of those things, Daniel, but if that was all he was then he would never have survived at Atlantis." She leans forward, pushing the tray to one side so she can prop her elbows on the table. "You've read the mission reports. Everything McKay has done. I know how he appears but sometimes he can surprise you."

"And he reminds you of yourself," Daniel says, shrewdly.

Her eyes widen. "Oh god, no."

He smiles, taking another mouthful of chilli. "You're both driven by the same desire for knowledge. You're both experts on gate technology. When the Stargate programme is finally declassified you're both due a couple of Nobel prizes."

Her cheeks flush tellingly. "Perhaps. Although don't tell McKay that."

Daniel takes a breath, ready to show his Ace. "You recommended him to the Atlantis mission for a reason."

Sam visibly tenses, and she shoots a dark look at him. "How do you know that?"

_Jack_, he thinks, but doesn't admit it. "There must have been hundreds of people wanting the job. Why him?"

"Only a few were suitable."

"And McKay was the one picked as first choice. He might have the brains and the experience and a great CV but he has the personality of a bad-tempered rhino."

She relaxes, grinning. "Okay, fine. I felt bad about the fact that he was shipped off to Siberia. He did help stop the Goa'uld from using the Stargate as a bomb. And I know, he makes a terrible first impression. The first time I met McKay I thought he was a jackass. The second time too. But, I don't know…" She spreads her hands across the table expressively. "I started to think it was all for show."

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He has always considered Sam to be a good judge of character, but having witnessed McKay's abrasive personality for himself he finds this belief stretched. "If you say so."

"I know, it's hard to believe. But he's been out there for over two years, Daniel. And from the reports written by Doctor Weir and Colonel Sheppard, it's clear he's found a place there."

He prods a lump of meat with the end of his knife. "Ah. And that's what's bothering you. I figured there had to be reason you were hiding down here."

Sam reaches out with her fork and steals the lump before he can claim it. "I'm not hiding."

He points at the mushy jello wordlessly.

"Alright," she concedes, reluctantly. "Maybe I was finding it a little hard to concentrate. But when I think about what it must mean to him - the idea of something threatening to take all this away from me…"

He smiles, and says teasingly: "So you do share some similarities."

She doesn't smile back, her gaze dipping to the table. "I'm worried," she admits. "This is his only option."

He reaches out and takes her hand in his. "I know you'll do all you can. So will Vala."

"Even if you have to force her?" she jokes, weakly.

"Just think about how much McKay will owe you one."

Right on cue, the speakers set into the canteen walls crackle. _"Colonel Carter to the infirmary."_

Sam flinches. "They're early."

He squeezes her hand, then releases it. "Take that as a good sign. Want me to come with you?"

She hesitates. "He doesn't deserve an audience."

"I'll wait outside. Be on hand to keep Vala in check." Rising from the table, Daniel picks up the jello glass and puts in on his own tray, then pushes it to one side. He follows Sam from the room, overly aware of the way her body is held tightly, back rigid and arms held stiffly at her sides.

He wants to find the words to reassure her, to share some of the responsibility she bows beneath, but there are none. Sam has an odd relationship with the Canadian scientist, a man Daniel knows only well enough to dislike, but her worry is palpable.

He isn't sure why it seems to be affecting him as much as it is.

Carolyn waits for them on the other side of the infirmary doors, her hands clasped. Vala sits on the edge of an empty gurney, playing with a rubber glove.

"Finally," she says, extending one of the fingers and flicking it at Daniel. "Can we get started already?"

"Doctor McKay was beamed down a few minutes ago," Carolyn explains, ignoring Vala. "The device is already here. We can begin as soon as you're ready."

"As soon as _we're_ ready," Vala says. "And I've been ready for hours. Who is this guy, anyway?"

Daniel sighs. He leans towards Sam and whispers into her ear: "Just remember, she's promised to do everything she can."

Sam grimaces, and nods. "And I appreciate it."

He pats her on the arm, as Carolyn beckons the two women towards one of the private rooms. "Good luck."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "With McKay, or with Vala?"

The three women start to walk towards the far end of the infirmary, and Daniel takes this as his cue to leave. He pushes the infirmary doors and heads out into the corridor, trying to figure out what McKay must have done to warrant this much concern.

"Daniel Jackson."

He looks up, startled. Teal'c stands to the right of the infirmary doors as though guarding the entrance, arms folded across his chest.

"Teal'c." Daniel glances at the door behind him, then back at his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"I believe Colonel Carter is attempting to help her friend. Doctor McKay." The larger man tilts his head to the side slightly. "She has been worried about it."

He nods, moving to lean on the opposite wall, facing Teal'c. "I know. She feels responsible." Remembering suddenly, he frowns, looking up at Teal'c curiously. "Are you here because of Sam, or because of McKay?"

"Both."

"No offence, Teal'c, but Dr McKay has never done you any favours."

A faintly amused expression crosses Teal'c's face. "If you are referring to the time he worked with Colonel Carter on rescuing me from the Stargate, then yes, you are correct. However, I have been told that Dr McKay is no longer the same person as he once was."

Daniel raises an eyebrow. He hasn't been the only one to ask the question. "Sam said much the same to me. I guess she's the best person to judge."

Teal'c nods, slowly. "And you?"

"I guess…" He pauses, not sure of the right response. "I'm here for the same reason. McKay is worth a lot to Atlantis. And he means something to Sam." He shrugs. "I guess I'm here for moral support."

"A good reason."

"Plus," he jokes, "I'm hoping Atlantis will return the favour. If McKay visits Earth then maybe there's room on the Daedalus for a tourist?"

"You will get the chance to visit Atlantis."

"Eventually!" He sighs, heavily and pointedly. "There's so much to be discovered still! They've barely scratched the surface of the city and there's still an entire new galaxy out there!"

"You are jealous," Teal'c guesses.

"Maybe. Aren't you?"

"I am not you, Daniel Jackson."

"The Ancients could teach us so much. There is so much information in the libraries of Atlantis. New technology, new geography, new literature! The work they're doing isn't just protecting Earth, it's actually advancing our entire civilisation and…"

The door to the infirmary bursts open suddenly, and Carter tumbles out, wide-eyed and breathless. Teal'c moves first and grabs her by the arm; she reaches out and wraps her hand over his, leaning into him.

"Oh god."

"What happened?" Daniel looks towards the infirmary, and as the doors swing shut he can just make out the shrill sound of an alarm.

Sam shakes her head, pale, her voice faltering. "It didn't work."

"What about Vala?"

"She's still in there, she's still trying but…" Sam lifts her face towards them both, fearfully. "It went wrong. I think it made things worse."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ _A few people pointed out that Vala can use the healing device, and is better at it than Carter. (In my defence, I haven't seen SG1 since about season eight, so I know very little about the character!) Thanks to everyone who did, I always get annoyed at obvious plot holes so I'm glad that this one was highlighted. But wait... the device isn't working! Hmm... is there more McKay angst instore?_


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Notes: McKay gets a chapter! And a whole lotta angst. In fact, if this slips over into melodrama, I can only apologise. I've been watching Neighbours recently, and the whole Paul-Robinson-stuck-in-a-mineshaft-by-evil-twin-son plot is messing with my head. If you're British you'll understand._

_Again, thank you so much for the reviews! _

* * *

_McKay_

He sits in the back seat of the car, huddled under a thick coat. Carter sits in the passenger seats and addresses him via the rear view mirror. She has not been able to look at him directly since the SGC infirmary.

"The apartment block is nice. I saw the pamphlet. It doesn't have to be permanent, of course. You can stay there as long as you like."

Rodney isn't listening. He stares out of the window at the passing street, through rain drops streaking the glass.

"I added a few things to the shopping list, hope you don't mind. I know you brought some things on the Daedalus but I thought you needed more than essentials."

The car is sleek and expensive, but its suspension cannot hide every bump in the road, and each jostle makes his leg ache.

Ironic, he thinks. That the nature of his injury is what prevents him from being healed.

He recalls arriving in the SGC infirmary, having been beamed down by the Daedalus a few minutes earlier. Three weeks in transit had given him a prolonged recovery time with nothing to do but physiotherapy and sleep, and by the time he reached Earth he was able to hobble up the corridor and back before exhaustion claimed him. He had insisted on meeting Carter on his two feet, even if that meant leaning heavily on a stick.

"_Colonel."_

"_Rodney."_

Awkward and uncomfortable, he had broken the silence with a stiff: _"Let's get on with this."_

When Carter started, he had dismissed the slight prickle across his thigh as a side effect of his stubbornness, a protest from his leg at bearing his weight for so long. Dr Lam was monitoring his progress on a series of monitors and he assumed that if nothing showed on the scans, he had no need to mention anything trivial. He had seen the pity in the eyes of the Daedalus crew, and although Carter had done a good job of controlling her expression so far, he didn't want to provoke the same reaction in her. Not in a woman he secretly considered his equal.

When the feeling had grown from an ache into a stabbing pain, he had stared at the ceiling and bitten his lip. Beckett, he thought sardonically, would be amazed at his sudden stoicism.

His elevated heart rate eventually betrayed him. Dr Lam had looked over him and asked: _"Dr McKay, are you alright?"_

He didn't answer, concentrating on ignoring the pain and staying quiet, stifling a moan. Sam's eyes widened, and he saw her turn away from the bed.

"_Vala, it's not working. I think…"_

Then her voice had crackled in his ears, the pain suddenly too much for him to bear. He had lifted one hand, seen through blurred vision the way his arm shook violently, and swatted blindly at Carter.

"_Stop. Please…"_

"_Colonel, you should stop. I don't like these readings."_

"_I can't… it won't let me! Vala!"_

He remembered screaming.

"_Get out of the way, let me take it!"_

"Rodney? Did you hear me?"

He lifts his head from the seat and looks at the mirror. "Sorry."

"I was saying, if you wanted to send a message back to Atlantis…"

"I don't. There's nothing I need to add to Dr Lam's report."

The alien device that he had been shot with used a mineral the SGC's scans couldn't identify. The shrapnel still embedded in his leg acted as a repellent to the effects of the healing device, two forces resisting each other and causing the remaining nerves in his thigh to spark, muscles convulsing.

He could choose to have more surgery, to have the remaining metal searched out and removed, but the operation would cause more damage, reducing his mobility from sixty percent to zero.

So no choice at all.

He had told Lam as much.

Carter seems to read his mind. She sighs heavily, looking away from the mirror.

"We'll figure this out. Dr Beckett can send the samples from Atlantis. Once we've studied the mineral we should…"

"Might," he interrupts, feeling drained and exhausted. Only two emotions of the three he has felt in the past five weeks; the third being anger, and he hasn't felt that in such a while he can barely remember what it's like. "You _might_ be able to isolate the element in the mineral which causes the reaction, but after nine years those morons at Area 51 still have no idea how the healing device works when it's functioning like it should."

"We're still waiting to hear from the Tok'ra. It's possible…"

"That they're going to give up their day job to help the SGC fix one physicist? My ego isn't that big. Lose the optimism, Colonel, it makes you look stupid, and it doesn't suit you."

Her reflection scowls, and he hears her take a deep breath, controlling her reaction. "If you took the job at Homeland Security you would have access to the resources…"

"And they're willing to pay me a six figure salary for researching one project?"

"You could still take the job. You would still get to work with alien technology. You'd be an asset…"

"An asset to the organisation, I know. Developing new technology, working on projects that could help mankind. I heard the spiel." He looks out of the window. They are travelling down a high street, and he can see small, independent retailers serving bedraggled shoppers; hardware, a wedding shop, a grocery. "I have other priorities right now."

"Just consider it, McKay, alright?"

He doesn't reply. The car is slowing, and he guesses that they must be reaching their destination. A large, red bricked apartment block stands on the right corner of the street, opposite a Starbucks, and overlooking a park. He appreciates the location. The car travels around the corner, then takes a sharp turn into a small parking lot at the back of the building.

McKay waits for the car to stop moving and for the engine to die before he starts to move. Getting out of the car is an awkward process, stick first, but he refuses the offer of a hand from Carter.

The driver takes the single suitcase and leads the way. The main entrance is on the side of the building, and a security guard sits in the lobby, speaks to the driver and hands over the keys. The three of them head to the lift, Carter and the driver having to slow to allow McKay to keep up.

The floor is tiled, and his stick clicks loudly against its surface. He feels horribly conspicuous, the target of stares. It's ridiculous - the only other people in the room are the driver, Carter, and the guard, whose attention is absorbed in a newspaper.

He is nobody.

"Third floor," the driver says, pressing the button for the lift. "Room 3B."

The brass of the lift is smartly polished, and McKay can still smell the chemicals used to clean the floor. Despite its non-descript exterior he can tell the apartment block has been expensively renovated and kept to a high standard, speaking volumes about his new neighbours. The theme continues into the corridor when the lift doors open. A clean strip of carpet runs the length of the hall and even the numbers on the doors sparkle.

The room is only one down from the lift, a fact for which he is truly grateful. Despite his best efforts his left leg is beginning to tremble with effort, threatening to fold. Sweat prickles across the back of his neck. It is only sheer stubbornness and pride which keeps him going. He won't allow himself to fall in front of Carter.

The driver unlocks the door, then pushes it open and heads in first, rolling the suitcase behind him. He props it up against one wall, then gestures at the space.

"Living area." The room is on the corner of the building, and is gifted by two large windows and high ceilings, allowing light to flood the room. "Kitchen."

McKay follows him obediently, at a shuffle. He is aware of Carter glancing at him, concerned, but she says nothing.

There are three doors on the remaining two walls, and the driver opens each one in turn. "Bedroom." Double bed in maroon and white. "Bathroom." In cream and black. "Closet." Housing a single towel and a broom.

"It's nice," the driver offers, giving a satisfied sniff. "Modern but not too clinical. Not my taste though." He glances at Carter, then at the open door. "If that's all you need, I'll wait in the car."

She nods, turning towards the windows. Rodney follows her, frustrated at her slowness, and leans against the arm of the couch with a sigh of relief.

"It's a beautiful view." Sam dips her head, but doesn't turn to look at him. "I hope this is alright. They make good choices. The apartment they picked for Daniel when he came back was lovely."

Her small talk is stilted, her voice hesitant. McKay hates it.

"If you don't like it…"

"No." He speaks quietly, and without emotion. "I don't. But I don't have a choice."

Her shoulders tighten, and she turns toward him, meeting his gaze for the first time since failing to heal him. Her eyes are wide, expression honest, but he sees it - sees her pity.

McKay feels sick.

"I'm sorry, Rodney."

"It wasn't your fault." His throat is dry, words unconvincing. The silence which follows is long and uncomfortable, and he breaks it before she can. "Look, Colonel…"

"Sam," she interrupts. "You know me well enough by now, McKay."

"_Colonel_," he repeats, deliberately. "I'm quite fine. Free from the SGC. You don't have to stay."

Sam bites her lip and nods, reluctantly. "Alright."

She starts to move toward the door, and with great effort he pushes himself off the couch and follows. On the first step he stumbles, and has to grab the couch to steady himself. Sam doesn't see.

"You've got my number if you want to call me. And you know the job offer is always open."

She turns around at the door; he grabs the doorframe with his free hand.

"I know. I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm asking." Sam pauses, awkwardly, and for one horrible minute he thinks she is going to hug him.

She steps back, out into the hall. "Look, I don't like the idea of just dropping you off here…"

"I'm fine," he says quickly, lies: "I've spent the past five weeks surrounded by medical staff. I'm looking forward to the space."

Sam nods, clearly not believing him. "Well… I'll be in touch." She smiles, then takes another step back. McKay takes this as his cue and closes the door.

He turns, leaning against the door for a moment, struggling to resist the urge to simply slip to the floor.

It is late afternoon, and the light spilling into the apartment is orange tinted and warm. His shadow is long as he makes his way towards the sofa, right foot dragging slightly across the floor, breath coming quick and fast. He drops onto the couch, groaning through his teeth, his entire body now shaking with effort.

He hates this. Hates feeling this fragile, this helpless. Continually dogged by exhaustion. He digs out a bottle of painkillers from his jacket pocket and dry swallows two, grimacing at the taste.

Outside, he can hear the roar of an expensive car pulling away from the corner.

Then the rain, gentle and constant against the windows.

McKay stretches out on the couch in an effort to relieve the ache in his injured leg, and waits for the shaking to ease.

The apartment is nicely done up; wood floors and naked brickwork, lighting subtle and perfectly arranged. All the furniture matches, in deep mahogany, except for the couch and a single leather chair. The couch is made of suede. The living room is open plan to the kitchen, and through a door-less space McKay can see marble and black cupboards. A large bookcase covers one wall, but the only ornament is a flat screen television on a lower shelf.

Aside from himself and his suitcase, the apartment feels impersonal, and entirely for show. Pleasant, but empty.

He sits on the couch as the sun starts to set, and street lamps outside begin to glow.

The first sob takes him quite by surprise; a pain beneath his breast bone like a burning knot; then his stomach convulses and he gasps, broken. He can't be crying; hasn't cried since he was thirteen years old and his dog died. Never cried in Atlantis, even when Carson told him he would never walk unaided again; when Elizabeth told him he was going back to Earth; never cried in Cheyenne Mountain, when he woke to Dr Lam's apology and Carter's guilt.

He isn't the crying type, but hot tears are spilling down his cheeks and he can't control himself. He buries his face into the cushions, trying to stifle his sobs, fingers digging deep into the fabric. He can taste cotton and dust. His chest heaves and his throat swells; he can't breathe, weeping into the sofa with his arms over his head, consumed by loss and grief and loneliness.

Eventually, he sleeps.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Notes: A couple of people have pointed out that Caldwell can use the healing device. D'oh! I should have remembered that (mind you, that I forgot speaks volumes about how much I enjoyed that particular episode!). Since I don't imagine the healing device to be a piece of standard equipment for the Daedalus, McKay would have had to return to Earth anyway for Caldwell to use it. Still, I should have credited Caldwell's ability. Bother it. Oh well, too late now._

_Again, thank you for the feedback. Apologies for the slightly longer-than-usual wait between chapters._

* * *

_McKay_

McKay wakes the next morning to swollen eyes and a dry mouth. He lies on the couch as minute after minute passes by, and he thinks about nothing except watching the sunlight creep across the apartment floor.

Eventually, Rodney gets up. He hobbles to the bathroom, an act made more difficult by the awkward position he slept in, and his leg now hates him for it. He has to take a breather, sitting on the closed toilet lid with his head in his hands, eyes closed while he waits to wake up, properly.

After another few minutes, Rodney pushes himself to his feet, and moves towards the sink.

There is a mirror on the wall. He stares at it. It's the first time he's seen his reflection since the mission.

His skin is pale and blotchy, his lips chapped. What once was a five o'clock shadow is now a scraggy beard. He is still wearing the clothes from yesterday, and there is a stain on the left side of his shirt he can't identify.

He looks _old_.

Fifty, and haggard, not thirty eight.

McKay stares at himself.

This isn't what he thought his life would come to. Before Atlantis, working at the SGC, or in Russia, there had been Nobel prizes and world acclaim in his future. Maybe the cover of New Scientist. Time Magazine. The World's Most Influential People. Women would be dazzled by his intelligence and good looks, his peers would be envious of his breakthrough discoveries and ground breaking papers.

In Atlantis there had still been all of that, and more. He would uncover the secrets of the Ancients, and defeat the Wraith, and gain so much knowledge he would be offered Ascension - and he would turn it down. He would save Earth, save the galaxy, return home a conquering hero and dazzle the scientific world with all he had discovered. He would stand on a stage with Sheppard, Elizabeth and Carson under an arch of international flags, and pretend to be humbled by the applause of nations.

But Atlantis belongs to his past life. And this one, the one which starts with pain and grief and loss - he isn't sure what it will be, what he will become.

But he knows it shouldn't be _this._

McKay stares at himself and is disgusted.

He trudges back into the lounge, stick clicking on the wooden floor, and heads to the suitcase, still resting unopened against the wall. Awkwardly he manhandles it until it lies flat, then pops the lid, and searches through its contents, pulling out a few select items. A wash-bag, and new underwear, and clean clothes.

He stumbles back into the bathroom. The pain in his leg is increasingly unbearable, and when he reaches into the shower and discovers a plastic seat screwed into the wall, he's actually relieved.

On Atlantis he could be up and out of his quarters in ten minutes, but this time it takes him forty five, and he's in pain again by the time he emerges, shaved and clean and relatively smart.

There is a temptation to drop onto the couch, but he stubbornly makes it to the kitchen and starts making coffee.

Someone - Carter, he suspects - has thought to equip the kitchen with a few basics. Milk, bread, cheese, and - thank god - coffee. An expensive brand, not cheap instant granules.

He finds pleasure in the time it takes him to fit the filters into the machine, in the smell that fills the kitchen beautifully. Coffee on Atlantis is crude, stale, and usually lukewarm. He sits on a stool and watches the liquid bubble, then pours out his first cup with relish.

It tastes exactly as good as he thought it would. Rich and bitter. Having spent the past five weeks on an enforced detox the small amount of caffeine gives McKay an instant buzz, and he takes the mug into the living room.

He begins to explore the apartment. The SGC has clearly done this before. The right hand side of the shelving unit in the living area houses paper and pens, and in the left is a laptop. Hidden beneath the television is a DVD player and stereo, the speakers black and camouflaged in the corners of the room. The bedroom cupboards contain spare sheets and coat hangers, and in the bathroom cabinet is what resembles a hotel gift bag, containing shampoo, toothpaste, a comb and disposable razor.

He ignores everything except the paper and pens, which he takes back with him to the couch and dumps on the coffee table.

Picking up both, McKay writes on the top line:

_Things to do._

He underlines it once, then twice.

_1. Buy food._

_2. Get cat back._

_3. Look for job._

He stops for a moment, thinks, then adds:

_4. Phone Jeanie._

He'll do that, he decides, after he's done the first three.

Carson had researched the names of local physiotherapists, and provided a shortlist of three. McKay uses his new laptop and - joy! Carter's idea, he decides - a wireless connection to the internet to research the names. He dismisses the first (a large, beefy woman with bright red skin and close cropped hair) and the second (a Kim, who turns out to be male, not female) and selects the third. A blonde, he guesses around thirty five, called Gardner. 

He scribbles her details in the margin of the pad, then goes to shut the laptop down; and stops.

Bringing up Google, Rodney searches the web.

* * *

To his surprise, McKay discovers that in the past two years he has become a moderately well off man. 

He forgot, in Atlantis, that he was being employed to do a job. That somewhere, someone was printing a monthly payslip with his name on it. The money has not been touched, simply sat in an account building up interest and now McKay finds he has more money than he has ever had. Not enough for permanent retirement - if he wanted it - but plenty for the future, to rent the apartment and ensure he is comfortable.

It is enough to warrant some indulgent online shopping. An hour later he is sat on the stool in his kitchen, ordering around the two men sent to deliver his groceries from a high class and exorbitantly priced website. He decides off hand which cupboard to use for which, then changes his mind and has the men move everything around, all the while pointing at his bad leg and grimacing.

"Cheese in the fridge door, second from the right. _Second_. Are you deaf?"

"Sugar in the cupboard over the kettle. Over the - oh, for god's sake, are you an idiot? That's a kettle, that's a toaster. Even a two year old can tell the difference!"

His two assistants are far too entrenched in the etiquette of customer service to retort back, but he sees the less than subtle dirty glares they shoot at him when they think he isn't watching.

It reminds McKay of being back in charge of a lab, the first slice of normalcy he has had in over a month. Resentment and insults he can handle - even prefers, over sympathy and pity.

He knows he won't even end up eating most of what he has ordered. Rodney has always considered cooking to be a waste of his time - if not of other people's, as long as they were cooking for him. He prefers fast food and anything microwavable. This is an exception - an attempt to remind himself of all that Earth can offer, particularly if it comes with a high sugar content.

Despite regular visits by the Daedalus, on Atlantis luxuries such as chocolate, real coffee and popcorn ran out quickly, and identifiable fresh goods were few and far between. He decides he will miss the purple berry grown by the Athosians, that was somewhere between a raspberry and a blueberry and made delicious pies and tarts - but he would trade a lifetimes supply for the twenty bags of M&Ms he now has stashed in a drawer.

He spends the afternoon eating his way through all that he has missed in the past two years. Bags of candy litter the coffee table, and he lies on the couch and watches reruns of original _Star Trek_ he has discovered on a cable channel, and grins when he thinks of how Carson would react if the Scot could see him.

* * *

McKay sleeps for far longer than he ever has in his entire life. 

Mostly this is from exhaustion. He can stand with reasonable comfort, putting all his weight on his good leg and the cane, but when walking he tires easily, and has to rest after getting as far as the apartment lobby.

Partly he sleeps because he knows he _can_, without interruption. Long lie-ins and afternoon naps. It is as though his body is using the opportunity to regain all the hours of rest lost to Atlantis.

It is the second day of his new life, and McKay sits in the lobby waiting to regain the energy he will need to cross the street to Starbucks. It will be the first time he has ventured out in public, and to prepare himself against what he fears will be condescension and underhand stares, he cloaks himself with an angry, stubborn defiance.

This, he justifies to himself, explains why he is so rude to the security guard.

The man's name is Brian. McKay guesses he is in his early twenties, with closely shaved hair and pale skin. He sits behind the desk reading Marvel comics, and smiles cheerily at everyone who passes, even if they don't respond - which is usual.

McKay sits on the leather sofa in the lobby reception trying to ignore Brian waving at him from the desk. Brian seems to take this as a challenge, and a minute later he drops onto the sofa beside the scientist.

"Hello."

Rodney sighs, and looks up from his intense study of the floor. "Hello."

"I'm Brian."

He looks at the man's name badge, and nods. "Yes."

"You're Doctor McKay."

Again he nods. "Right again. Look, do you want something or…"

"Are you a real doctor?"

He raises an eyebrow, and reassesses his initial view of Brian as an over-aged sulky teenager. "I'm a doctor of astrophysics. Not medicine."

Brian looks slightly disappointed. "I didn't think anyone could be a doctor of magnets."

McKay bristles. "It's not magnets. Well, it _is_ magnets, but that's not all it is. And it's not physics, it's _astrophysics._ I study stella phenomena." He pauses, and has to rethink his words at Brian's nonplussed expression. "Stars and planets."

The boy - McKay can only downgrade his phrasing - widens his eyes appreciatively. "You can be a doctor of that?"

"Yes." He's tired, and his leg aches, and Starbucks now seems like a bad idea, light years away. He is not in the mood for inane questions and entertaining.

"Wow. That's better than medicine."

"Yes. Look," McKay struggles to get to his feet, ignoring the offer of help, "I have places to be."

Brian nods. "Okay."

"Yes." McKay glances at him, then away, shouldering his laptop bag. He starts to walk towards the door, willing his injured leg to hurry up, while behind him Brian waves.

"Have a nice day!"

He grimaces.

Starbucks is exactly like he remembers, but the reaction he expects to his appearance never materialises. Apparently a thirty-something with a cane isn't a thrilling attraction, and nobody gives him a second glance. The server - barista, he notices, reading a sign and pulling a face - serves him his coffee with the same smile and politeness she greets every customer with. The only embarrassment comes when he attempts to pick up his coffee, cake and laptop whilst keeping one hand on his stick. This proves to be an impossible task, and he has to red-facedly accept the offer of help from a spotty faced boy with long hair who reminds him of Kavanagh.

He picks a chair by the window, and spends the next two hours dividing his attention between job hunting and people watching.

* * *

Dr Margaret Gardner prefers to be called Maggie, and she is more attractive than the grainy hospital website photo revealed. Tall, and well toned, and she quickly sees through McKay's bluster. 

She keeps him waiting for five minutes at his each appointment, he suspects to deliberately piss him off. Despite his initial reluctance physiotherapy proves a good way of working through his frustration, and after his first session he has to grudgingly admit he enjoyed himself. He attempts to flirt, knowing he's terrible at it but secretly enjoying the thrill of having an attractive woman spend this much attention on his body.

Maggie either ignores him or retorts back, depending on her mood. Today she teases, raising an eyebrow at him as he hobbles into the clinic - _not_ rehabilitation centre, as it says above the door and as he so hotly corrects her, when they first meet. Rehabilitation implies recovery, but he has never believed in miracles, and this is simply learning to live with the new limitations of his body. She kept a completely straight face and said she liked a patient who was realistic about their aims.

"I see you bothered to make an effort."

He looks down at his outfit: ugly sweats and one of his cleaner t-shirts; then gestures around him. "Ah, yes. Because I am surrounded by the height of fashion."

The centre is part of the local hospital, a private practice with expensive equipment and a number of rich inpatients, most of whom are _old_. With the exception of a blonde, tanned, twenty-something currently working on weights, McKay is the youngest patient by about forty years.

"Ski-instructor," Maggie whispers into his ear, as she settles him onto a bench, flat on his back. "Swedish. My second favourite patient."

McKay rolls his eyes. "Please. He's so obvious."

"Obvious and cute," she says, pulling back so he can see her grin. "Can't compare to you."

He is secretly flattered, but outwardly bristles and says: "Please. I'm glad most people have more refined taste than you."

"And you would know," she says, sitting on her haunches at the base of the bench. She takes his injured foot in one hand.

"Not everyone goes for tall, dark and handsome," he retorts, without thinking.

Maggie glances over her shoulder at the Swede. "He's blonde."

He flushes. "You know what I mean."

"Sure." She pats him on his good leg. "Receding hairline, slight paunch, never seen the sunlight… I can see how that could work for some girls."

"Paunch?" he squeaks indignantly.

Maggie grins, and takes the foot of his right leg in her hands, firmly. "Push," she says, and annoyed and aggravated, he does.

* * *

Physical therapy leaves him exhausted. McKay dozes in the back of the cab, and wakes up when the driver pointedly revs the engine, idling in the apartment parking lot. 

He stumbles through the lobby, one hand already curled around a tub of painkillers.

"Hi, Doctor McKay." A folded copy of _Amazing Spiderman_ is flapped at him.

He returns the wave half-heartedly. "Hi, Brian."

"Did you have a good day?"

He has to think, but: "Yes." He glances toward the reception desk and wonders what the boy does all day. "Ah…" he fumbles, "did you?"

Brian nods enthusiastically. "Sure. A package came for you."

He lifts up a box, long and thin and covered in brown wrapping paper.

McKay tucks the bottle of painkillers back into his jacket pocket and heads towards the desk. He takes the parcel and awkwardly tucks it under his free arm. "Thanks."

He gets a smile in return. He has learnt from experience at Atlantis that if one wants to be served first at lunch or to always receive packages from Earth without damage or loss, it pays to be nice to the stagehands.

Even if he has to rely on name badges.

He takes the lift up to his apartment, shuts the door and takes the package over to the couch, where he unwraps it impatiently, casting paper and bubblewrap to one side.

The cane is deep brown, rosewood pretending to be ebony, but the top is real enough. Silver engraved with tiny ferns and a rose. It is antique and completely over the top, and McKay decides it's perfect.

* * *

"Nice," Maggie says, when she sees it. 

McKay can't help but flourish it dramatically, Zorro-style, although it almost costs him his balance. "I hated the one the hospital gave me."

"I can't imagine you being one of the crowd," she says, dryly.

He likes Maggie, despite his best attempts not to. He cannot think of anyone he has bantered with in the same way except for Sheppard. He tells himself that it is part of her training, her ability to provoke the necessary reaction from her patients, but his attempt at distance fails and he finds himself enjoying their bickering.

This is why he never expects her question. Lying on the massage table, exhausted, while she pummels his leg into submission.

"So tell me, McKay," (she never uses his first name, not after their first appointment, when he snapped at her and said that no one on Earth knew him well enough to call him that) "What did you do to deserve ending up here?"

He bites his lip, suppressing a groan. "You've got copies of my medical files."

"Which tells me your _medical_ details. It doesn't tell me about you."

This is one of the many things which annoys him about SGC bureaucracy. Helpfully warning him of the non-disclosure agreement bearing his signature without any suggestion on how to lie. Something he has never been very good at.

He tries to evade answering. "What do you think?"

Maggie shrugs. "Most of my patients are victims of either a stroke of a car wreck. Or the athletic type, like Sigvard over there, but," she grins, "I don't see you fitting in that category."

He harrumphs, noisily.

"This sort of injury would suggest you're a soldier, but I don't see it. You talk back too much. Maybe an industrial accident?"

McKay makes some nonsensical noise into the mattress.

"It looks like you were caught up in an explosion, so maybe terrorism? A tourist in the wrong place at the wrong time." She pats his leg, and adds teasingly: "Maybe you're secret service. That would explain your file's vagueness."

He winces, and tries to stretch his right leg experimentally.

"So how did I do?"

He pauses, thinking for a second, then: "You managed to be completely wrong, and at the same time right on every count." He does his best attempt at enigmatic.

"Including secret service?" She laughs. "No offence, McKay, but you're no James Bond." She starts to help him roll over, ignoring his overacted huffs and puffs.

"Actually," he says, lifting his chin, "I'm a scientist. A very _good_ scientist. One of the best. I have extensive knowledge on a range of sciences but astrophysics is my speciality."

Maggie raises an eyebrow. "I never imagined astrophysics to be one of the more dangerous sciences."

"Oh, it can be," he says, hoping she doesn't ask about the scar on his arm.

"Can you go back?"

He flinches.

"Sorry." Maggie releases her hold on his right calf, concerned. "Did that hurt?"

"It always hurts," he says, using sarcasm to cover himself. "Just be more careful."

Her lips thin, and she says nothing.

McKay stays silent for the rest of the session.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Notes: Can Caldwell use the healing device? Can he not? Does it matter? And what the hell is Skinner doing in the Pegasus galaxy anyway? _

_None of these questions will be answered in this chapter. But we are revisiting Atlantis, you'll be pleased to know. Again, thanks for the reviews!_

* * *

_Radek_

It has been three weeks since the Daedalus left, and Zelenka is on his first mission with Colonel Sheppard's team.

The newest member of the team.

He does not feel prepared. The science department is still struggling to pick up the slack left in McKay's wake. Radek is only now discovering how immense McKay's workload was, how much of the scientist's egocentric protests were based in truth. He will not go so far as to say McKay was running Atlantis one-handedly, but he was unaware of how much management time is needed to keep the scientists from blowing up the city or themselves in their excitement.

By now McKay's projects have been reassigned, his passwords changed, his reports filed. His office is empty, but Zelenka has been reluctant to move his equipment in, and the space stands abandoned. In every other way Radek has picked up all that Rodney left - including his position on Colonel Sheppard's team.

So why, Radek muses, crouched beneath a moss-covered cliff face, does he have this constant feeling of having forgotten something?

"Have you discovered the entrance, Doctor Zelenka?"

He clucks, and tells Teyla: "It is Radek, please."

She smiles, crouching beside him. "Radek." She puts out one hand flat against the cliff's surface. "It is warm."

Radek nods, attention drawn to the fine line running along the rock surface. The fine, perfectly straight line, the only sign that the cliff is not a natural formation. "The energy readings the Colonel picked up originated behind here."

"You believe the Ancients hid something?"

"Perhaps. They certainly had impact here," he adds, casting a glance over his shoulder.

The natives are brown skinned and small in stature, dressed in creams and white. Religion drives their culture; worship of the Ancients, the Wraith as the devil, and the place on which Radek now crouches is considered sacred ground. Whispers brought Teyla news of these people, who tell of the day when a god fell to the earth, and bestowed treasures on the local people who took care of their guest, welcomed as one of their own.

The Anaracians have matured over past generations, enough to see that the protection bestowed upon their people was based in technology, not myth. It failed twenty years ago, and since then the planet has been caught up in a dozen Wraith cullings. Teyla has explained of the Atlantean's knowledge, has offered their help in return for exploration of any other relics found on the planet, and the offer was eagerly accepted.

Radek now sits on the land where the Ancient crash landed, and searches for a way into the treasure long since hidden.

Behind him a small group of Anaracians wait patiently, seemingly oblivious to the tension between their guests.

Ronon stands a few feet away from the group, watching the natives intently. He has said little since their arrival through the Stargate; has said nothing to Radek. The Satedan seems to be expecting something to happen, though Radek cannot imagine the Anaracians being anything but welcoming. They are technologically backward, and though the recent cullings have made them nervous and fearful, generations of peaceful living have left a cultural imprint, and the overall atmosphere is one of friendship and warmth.

Sheppard is pacing around the clearing marked by the Anaracians for worship. His gun has been drawn since they walked through the 'gate, held in one hand while the other keeps an eye on an Ancient scanning device. Like Ronon, he seems to be expecting the worst, constantly on edge.

Like Ronon, he has barely spoken since their arrival.

Teyla seems to read Radek's thoughts, because she sighs softly and says: "Things are… difficult. They are not always like this."

No, Radek thinks, because if this was how the team normally behaved he could not imagine them surviving for this long.

If they have survived.

He turns back to his work. He is close to finding a way in, to find the right wave frequency the technology beneath his feet will recognise and accept. It is only a matter of luck.

Zelenka wonders if Rodney would have found the solution already. Wonders at his inadequacies filling McKay's shoes.

"I understand," he says, keeping his gaze fixed on the work before him. "It is not the same."

Teyla puts a hand on his arm, gently. "Colonel Sheppard would not have suggested you take Doctor McKay's place if he did not believe you were capable."

He takes a deep breath. "I know. I am flattered. But still, it is not the same."

There is movement beneath his fingers. The rock starts to vibrate, growing in intensity, audibly growling and rumbling. Zelenka starts to move backward, slowly, when a hand grabs him by his shoulder and hauls him to his feet.

"Get out of the way," Sheppard urges, forcing the scientist away from the rock face.

"It is quite safe!" Radek protests, stumbling on the uneven ground. He wants to add, _I know what I'm doing_, but the look on the soldier's face stills his tongue.

Sheppard is fearful.

He does well at hiding it, but Radek can still see it, in the way Sheppard tugs him violently away from the cliff, in the way that he watches Ronon do the same to Teyla.

Then he turns towards the rock, temporarily forgetting Sheppard. The cliff has started to split, a hole forming in its surface. Moss and bits of dead twigs are torn away, and the movement causes all the birds in surrounding trees to cry out loudly and take to the air.

The Anaracians gasp in awe, but do not move. Neither Sheppard nor Ronon pay them any attention.

Finally, after a full minute, the ground stops shaking. A door has opened in the cliff face, uneven and scuffed, but metallic and clearly unnatural. Radek is impressed, both at the technology used to achieve the effect and the showmanship in designing it. Obviously the original Ancient had relished their deification.

He starts to move towards it, forgetting that Sheppard anchors him. The grip on his arm is trembling minutely.

"Careful," the Colonel says, and releases Zelenka's arm. His face is stony, impenetrable. "We don't know what's behind there."

"The energy readings were low," Radek says, but he keeps his steps small and measured. "I believe whatever lies behind there has been inactive for some time."

"I _said careful_," Sheppard repeats, his tone low and threatening. He overtakes Radek, and the Czech can only watch the soldier's back and wish he had the courage to argue.

Teyla stands beneath Ronon's shadow, watching Sheppard approach the cave. She glances at Radek, eyes sad and expressive.

Sheppard places his palm on the door which opens obediently beneath his touch. Cautiously, the Colonel switches on a torch, and points it toward the dark. Zelenka moves closer, wanting to see inside but reluctant to invade Sheppard's personal space.

He wishes, intently, that McKay were here. Discovering Ancient artefacts without the Canadian's enthusiasm lacks the same excitement, and exploring beneath the thunderous shadow of Sheppard's gloom is not a pleasant place to be.

The Colonel emerges from the shadows of the cave and looks at Zelenka. "There's some technology in there. Looks Ancient, but nothing's glowing."

_Which is what I said,_ Zelenka thinks, frustrated and tired. He trudges into the cave, and does not see the frown Teyla gives Sheppard as they pass.

Inside several shelves are built into the wall containing a variety of equipment, some of which Radek recognises, some he doesn't. Much of it is broken. There are pieces of a jumper engine, coils of wiring used in the finer electronic work of Atlantis, a scanner, parts of a drive pod. Theories begin to build in his head - a jumper crash, maybe an Ancient fleeing from a Wraith ship, surviving on the planet but with no way of contacting his people and calling for a rescue.

In the centre of the room is a large device, three foot tall and four wide, a mass of cables and welded metal seemingly salvaged from something else. The source of the weak power signals comes from within it, and Zelenka approaches cautiously.

"What is it?" Sheppard asks.

Radek studies the machine's heart through gaps in the metalwork. "I believe it is a jamming device. It would explain why the Wraith have not detected life signs from this planet in so long."

"But it isn't working now?"

He shakes his head. "The Ancient used the power core from the jumper as energy, but that has failed."

"Can you fix it?" Sheppard's questions are terse and to the point.

Radek peers into the machine. "Yes, I believe so. If we replace the power supply."

Ronon is stood in the doorway to the cave, Teyla beside him. "The Wraith already know there are people living on this planet. Interference won't fool them."

"It might," Teyla says, thoughtfully. "If the Anaracians were able to hide from the next appearance of the Wraith, and the Wraith's scanners were unable to pick up any life signs, they might assume the planet had been abandoned."

Sheppard nods, stiffly. "That will do. Let's head back to the 'gate, update Atlantis. Get a science crew here."

Zelenka frowns. "I need to catalogue the other items here, Colonel."

Sheppard scowls, and starts to head towards the exit, apparently not willing to listen to argument. "Unless you see something that's going to disappear in the next hour, then it can keep. Let's go." He disappears out of the door, his figure momentarily blocking out the light.

Radek pauses in the dark and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He had tried to reassure himself that he was capable of joining an off-world team, but working beside a silent Ronon and a moody Sheppard is proving to be a limitation he had never predicted. He longs for his lab, for examining the devices in leisure after Rodney had risked life and limb to bring them back.

He swallows, and the sound is loud, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

"Doctor Zelenka?"

Teyla leans through into the shadows, looking concerned. "Are you alright?"

He nods, pushing himself away from the device and toward the door. "Yes. I am just coming."

She glances towards the Ancient equipment strewn about the room, and then back at him. "The work will be quicker when done with a team."

It does not reassure him, and does nothing to quell his rising annoyance and frustration. "He does not trust me," he says, softly.

Teyla closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them he sees sadness and weariness in their depths. "I do not believe," she says, her voice barely raised above a whisper, "that he trusts anyone, anymore."

Then she ducks her head, and turns out of the cave.

Radek follows, blinking in the sunlight. The Anaracians are bubbling over with excitement - they crowd around him, demanding to know what is inside, whether he can repair the device left by the god which has protected them for so long.

"I will try," he says, then explains that more of his people will be coming. They seem pleased, promise to reward their work with a feast, with a share from their harvest. Radek pretends to be interested, but is aware of Sheppard lurking impatiently at the edges of the crowd.

"Zelenka."

He dips his head, thanking the Anaracians for their words, then moves away from the crowd. Ronon has already started walking toward the Stargate, and Sheppard shoots a pointed look in the Satedan's direction.

"We're leaving."

"We will be back," Radek hears Teyla say, to one of the Anaracian leaders who clamours at her side. Slowly the crowd moves away, allowing Radek to separate himself and join Sheppard.

Teyla is frowning, glancing back at the Anaracians. "They only wish to be helpful," she says, as Sheppard starts to walk.

"I know. They're very helpful." The Colonel picks up his pace, Radek having to trot to catch up. "But we don't have time for pleasantries."

"This is not being pleasant," Teyla shoots back, the volume of her voice rising slightly. "This is diplomacy, Colonel. And you should make time for it."

"I'll play happy families while the scientists are going over whatever is in that cave. Right now Weir expects us back." He turns his head, signalling that the conversation is over.

Teyla sighs, but says nothing more, glancing unhappily in Radek's direction. He feels helpless, out of his depth.

The walk back to the Stargate is conducted quickly and in silence. Zelenka keeps pace with Sheppard, and tries not to watch the way the soldier still carries his gun, drawn and held tightly by his side.

At least, he thinks, with a team of scientists around him it will be easier to ignore Sheppard's thunderous mood. He starts to think of suitable names: Ashcroft, certainly, and Miko could use some more fieldwork experience…

Despite his best attempts at a distraction Radek keeps coming back to the same problem.

The Anaracians are friendly and hospitable, trading links easily built and alliances formed. He wonders how Sheppard will react when a problem does arise - and it is only a matter of time before one of their missions turns bad.

Although, given Sheppard's current protective streak, Radek wonders whether it will even get that far.

He thinks back to the lab, and the workload which awaits him upon his return. About handling scientists, already nervous after McKay's departure, their neuroses heightened by Sheppard's paranoia. The Colonel's sudden change in attitude is seeping through to his men, and on Atlantis the divide between civilians and military is widening.

Subtle changes, at first. Table changes during meal times, friendships splitting off into fractions. An uneasiness in the air.

The sense that the danger inherent in living in the Pegasus galaxy is something only the marines can handle. That the scientists are to be coddled and protected, even if it means limiting what they can achieve.

He is wrong, Radek thinks, with a sudden burst of anger. Sheppard thinks that it is up to the military to protect the civilians, when in fact it is the other way around. The number of times McKay has saved the city…

His step falters, mouth dry.

They _need_ Rodney back.

Sheppard and Ronon have stopped, and up ahead Radek can see the Stargate. Sheppard is fingering his GDO, and looks up at Radek.

"Dial it up."

Suppressing a sigh, Zelenka moves toward the DHD and presses the symbols for Atlantis. The metal is smooth beneath his touch, worn down through erosion and age. The Stargate opens with a whoosh, the event horizon bright and brilliant, but he feels none of the usual thrill at seeing physics in live action.

Sheppard waits for him to step through the Stargate first. It is only then that he holsters his weapon.

The gateroom is quiet and dark compared to the sunlit day on the Anaracians' world. Radek steps down from the gate platform, aware of Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon following behind him.

"Colonel." Doctor Weir runs lightly down the steps from the above control room. Radek sees the way her gaze drifts across the team, visually checking them for injuries. He sees the brief look of relief and the slump in her shoulders, before Weir covers everything with a firm, professional mask.

"Did everything go well? Did you find what you were looking for?"

The Colonel stands at ease, but his stance is less relaxed and informal than his usual slouch. "Yeah. Zelenka thinks the Ancient left behind a jamming device which tricked the Wraith into thinking the planet was dead."

Weir turns to look at Radek, questioningly.

"It can be fixed," he says. "I will need a team, and a jumper."

"Of course." She smiles. "Brief me on your plans."

He nods, and is about to move away, thinking the conversation over. But there is something in the way Weir stands, in the way she lingers beside the team, looking slightly uncomfortable and pained.

"What?" Sheppard asks, quicker than anyone. "What is it?"

Elizabeth sighs, and looks to the floor. Radek guesses what she is about to say before she begins to speak.

Three weeks since the Daedalus left, he thinks, feeling chilled.

"We've received a radio transmission from Earth." Weir takes a breath, then raises her head and says without inflection: "The attempt to heal Rodney failed."

* * *

_Author's Notes 2: Meanwhile, in Neighbours, Mishka has been kidnapped by her Russian husband and Connor is still missing, last seen with the psychotic evil twin brother! Ooh-er! No spoilers allowed from you Aussies :-) _


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Notes: Apologies for the delay, both between this chapter and the last, and this chapter and the next. I'm away over the weekend and won't be able to post again until Tuesday at the earliest._

_And yup, you're right. Neighbours is a tv show. A soap opera. And it is also comedy gold. Seriously, Russian gangsters! Nuns! Evil twins! Martin Gero, Rob Cooper and Brad Wright should watch and learn ;-)_

* * *

_Teyla_

The team returns to a post-mission medical check up by Doctor Beckett, and a briefing to Doctor Weir. Both are short, and the first is conducted in near silence.

Carson tried to make conversation, asking Doctor Zelenka about all he had discovered on the planet. Zelenka - _Radek_ - answered as best he could, but Teyla heard the frustration in his voice, the subtle way the scientist protested at the Colonel's abrupt treatment of the find.

"_Do you think there's anything useful, then?"_

"_I would not like to say at this point, Carson. There was not time. We will know more when we return."_

The room had been filled with an atmosphere of conflict; Radek refusing to look at Colonel Sheppard, John faking normalcy with easy, short replies to Doctor Beckett's questions, and Ronon refusing to say a word except to grunt affirmations.

The briefing had been even worse. The Colonel allowed Doctor Zelenka to lead the report, and had said very little in addition except when prompted by Doctor Weir.

The only time he had spoken without being prompted had been close to the end, when Elizabeth and Radek had been discussing how many scientists to send to the planet.

"_I want to recommend having at least one of my men per two scientists. Doctor Zelenka wants six scientists, including himself. I want Lorne and two others to accompany them."_

His face had been impossible to read, utterly closed off, but it was Doctor Weir's reaction that had been more troubling. Her frown, then slow nod.

"_Agreed. Assuming the Anaracians allow it."_

Entirely unnecessary, Teyla thought, frustrated. Worse - Sheppard had not recommended that they return with Radek and the other scientists, as though he no longer trusted Ronon or Teyla with the duty of protection.

When the meeting ends the Colonel leaves first, walking in long, quick strides down the corridor. Teyla follows at a distance, trying to remain unseen, although after the first few turns she realises where Sheppard is headed.

She does not want to have to do this. Part of her is angry, deeply angry at Sheppard and his reaction, at his selfishness. Doctor McKay will not be returning to Atlantis and Teyla wants to stop and grieve for their loss, for the city's loss. She wants to join Sheppard and Ronon and plan how they will compensate for the physicist's departure, to plot their first communiqué with Rodney, to ensure their friendship is not lost over distance. But instead she is chasing Sheppard across Atlantis, watching his walls build up before her eyes.

He stops running - it is the only term which aptly describes his movement and speed through the corridors - when he reaches a western wing chosen by the military as a training base. There are several rooms bearing paper targets for shooting practice, and a larger, empty space which Teyla herself has used many times to practice her weaponry. She has tried - futilely - to teach Rodney here. Just a few of the basic moves: to heighten his perception, to lighten his feet.

Rodney had protested vehemently at the suggestion, showing great audacity when hiding from her, creating inventive excuses for his disappearance at scheduled lesson times, then when finally in the room constantly complaining about back ache or a sprained wrist.

Despite all that, he would still return for the next lesson, and though he never voiced thanks his reappearance spoke volumes.

Even if, she thinks ruefully, following Sheppard into one of the smaller training rooms, McKay never seemed to remember one lesson to the next.

Teyla lingers in the shadow of the doorway. The Colonel seems oblivious to her presence, to the existence of anything outside his own internal world of guilt and anger.

In the centre of the room, suspended from the ceiling, is a large sack Teyla has seen the marines use to punch and kick. There were originally five such sacks in five similar rooms, but after Major Lorne explained to Ronon what their purpose was, one of the bags had been quickly reduced to stuffing and fabric.

It was cheating, Sheppard had explained patiently to the Satedan, to use a knife in the attack.

Sheppard stands in front of the sack, head hung low, completely still.

A minute passes. Teyla considers speaking, preparing to clear her throat.

Suddenly Sheppard's right fist lunges out at the sack, striking it in the centre and making the heavy weight wobble back. His left hand strikes a second later, then the right again, a flurry of punches delivered with such ferocity it makes Teyla flinch. His attack never stops, never changes in pace - it is as though she is watching a machine, without emotion or expression, and it is only the sweat beginning to appear in patches across the man's shirt which show he is under strain.

After several long, agonising minutes he stops, just as suddenly as he began.

Sheppard stands before the sack, spinning on its chain, his shoulders heaving, his breath coming in quick, desperate gasps.

"You going… to come in or… just watch?"

Teyla winces, ducking her head apologetically. "I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt."

"Yes you did." He draws a hand across his forehead and turns. His eyes are dark, unreadable.

She takes a deep breath and steps into the room. "I wanted to speak to you."

"About?" he says, and it feels like she is under scrutiny, as though Sheppard is trying to interrogate her.

Teyla lifts her head and controls her emotions, saying calmly: "Doctor McKay."

His expression doesn't even flicker. "You heard Elizabeth. The SGC tried using the healing device. It didn't work."

She nods. The news had surprised her only in her reaction to it. She thought she should have felt more devastated, but the loss of Doctor McKay had been felt the moment he had left aboard the Daedalus. All she feels is sadness, immense sadness at the loss of hope, and a longing to see the scientist again so they could say goodbye on better terms.

But for Sheppard…

"We knew this was a possibility," she says. She can see him building walls between them, and it angers her - as though Sheppard thinks he is the only one affected.

And she is angry at McKay too, for leaving in the manner he did.

"Sure. Are you worried about Zelenka? Think he can cope on an off-world team?"

"I have no doubt in Doctor Zelenka's capability. He is as knowledgeable as Doctor McKay, and although he needs more confidence in himself I believe this will come over time and experience, as it did with Rodney."

She uses the physicist's name deliberately, hoping to provoke a reaction. It fails.

"Good." Sheppard turns, throwing a lazy punch at the sack. His fist catches the bag on its edge, and sends it into an uneven spin.

He is telling her, without words, that the conversation is over. Teyla chooses to ignore him.

"I intend to write to Rodney, to tell him we miss him. I was hoping to send him a present - I understand that in your culture it is customary to send someone fruit if they are convalescing, but I do not believe that it will survive the long journey…"

"He can get fruit on Earth," Sheppard says, curtly, and without looking back at her. "And flowers. If you want to write a letter then go ahead, it's up to you."

Teyla inwardly sighs, and continues stubbornly: "I was hoping to send this from the entire team, Colonel. I am sure Rodney would like…"

"Look," he says, a harsh note to his voice, "if you want to sign my name at the bottom, go ahead. I'm sure McKay won't care. He made it quite clear when he left that he doesn't give a damn about anyone here." He hits the bag again, hard enough to make Teyla wonder if he hasn't split skin.

"I do not believe that is true," she says, evenly.

Sheppard laughs, strained and short. "Oh, yes. Because his behaviour was so inclusive."

Teyla closes her left hand into a fist, pressing her fingers into her palm tightly. She wants to shout at Sheppard, to tell him that she was as hurt by Rodney's actions as he was, but that she also understands. That the scientist was in pain, and afraid, and hiding from pity. That whatever Rodney said to Sheppard was said from fear and frustration, and not from truth.

But her words will not be heard.

She changes tactic. "If I may speak honestly, Colonel, I am concerned that you are being too restrictive in monitoring Doctor Zelenka's work on the planet."

He turns, one eyebrow raised. "Restrictive? The doc' found what he was looking for."

"And what of the other artefacts left by the Ancient?"

"They were dead or broken."

"You do not know that," she says, persistently. "And neither did Doctor Zelenka. You did not give him the chance."

Sheppard scowls. "He's taking a team back to the planet. They can spend as long as they like there."

"Under Major Lorne's watch?"

"It's for their protection."

"You are not being consistent, Colonel. You are treating Doctor Zelenka differently to how you would treat Doctor McKay."

He takes a step forward, expression turning thunderous. "Zelenka needs experience, Teyla, you said it yourself."

Her other hand curls into a fist, and she has to force herself to relax. "The area was safe. The technology was not dangerous."

"We don't know that for sure."

"Doctor Zelenka said as much before entering the cave."

"And he couldn't be wrong?" Sheppard demands.

She tilts her chin upward and says, firmly: "You would have trusted Rodney to make that decision."

Sheppard's face twists with fury; he turns on his heel and yells: "And look where that got him!" He turns back, and snaps: "I'm military leader of Atlantis, Teyla. It's not Rodney's decision, and it's not Zelenka's - it's mine. I have to protect everyone in this city and if that means not cutting the scientists as much slack as they've been used to, then so be it. They've been cutting corners and rushing into situations without looking and maybe if they hadn't…"

He stops, abruptly, breathing as heavily as when he had been punching the bag.

Teyla waits for several moments, then says quietly: "The work of Doctor McKay, Doctor Zelenka and the other scientists is the reason you are here at all, Colonel. That is why you came to the Pegasus Galaxy, because you were rushing into a situation without looking first."

He says nothing, staring at her, still shaking with fury.

"Both Rodney and yourself were injured because you were the victims of an unprovoked attack on an alien world, an attack we could not have predicted." Teyla takes a breath, then says, without diverting her gaze: "Rodney was injured because he stopped to save your life. And I am glad he did, even if you are not."

He returns her gaze for a long moment, though she cannot read his eyes. Then Sheppard turns his head, just slightly, and moves forward - moves _past her_, out of the door.

Then he stops.

Teyla doesn't move.

"What happened to McKay," he says, dangerous and quiet, "could happen to anyone else. If a change in policy stops history from repeating, then that's the decision I'll make. I would like to think you would support me on this, Teyla, but if you don't agree then take it up with Weir."

Then he moves out of the room, through the doorway. Teyla can hear his footsteps down the corridor.

She wraps her arms around her chest, bows her head, and stands in silence.

* * *

_Kate_

Kate is sat in her office, editing a report idly, distracted by the glorious sunshine outside. She decides today to finish early, to see if she can find a secluded balcony somewhere and do a little sunbathing. Her office is light and bright and airy, but on a day as beautiful as today it feels confining.

She is, then, a little disappointed when someone knocks on her door - but when Teyla appears, her surprise squashes any thoughts of breaking early.

The Athosian has seen Kate only twice in the past two years. The first was just after Colonel Sheppard had invited her onto his team, part of the formality Doctor Weir insisted she go through. The second time was after the team's last disastrous encounter with Lieutenant Ford, and was on the advice of Carson, for whom both Teyla and Ronon hold immense respect. Respect they do not seem to display towards Kate.

She knows better than to take offence. Ronon shares Colonel Sheppard's view, that needing a doctor of the mind is a sign of weakness and vulnerability - although unlike the Colonel, Ronon cannot be ordered to attend. Teyla's distance was harder to understand, Kate glimpsing mistrust and fear in the Athosian's eyes, but when she learns of the Wraith and the power they exhibit she realises. Teyla is protective of her mind because she is afraid of losing it, even when motives are innocent.

Yet here Teyla stands, in the doorway to the office, clearly apprehensive and uncertain.

Kate rises from her chair and smiles, welcomingly. "Teyla. It's good to see you."

Teyla dips her head, then asks: "If I am disturbing you…" as though searching for a way out.

Kate shakes her head, and gestures to a chair. "Please, come in. Would you like a drink?"

She sees Teyla glance towards the pot of tea brewing on a table beside Kate's desk. "That is Athosian?"

She nods, moving around the desk to pick up the pot, pouring out two small cups' worth. "Yes. Miko Kusanagi introduced me to it, after she was given some by - Brouos, is it?"

Teyla smiles, and Kate is satisfied to see her take the opposite seat. "Yes. Brouos makes tea like no other I have known. He knows when to pick the leaves to ensure the taste will be sharpest."

"Apparently he and Miko share a love of the drink."

"He is always eager to discuss the art, although," and Teyla smiles again, "I admit I am less interested in his lectures than I might pretend."

Kate closes her fingers around the cup, and watches the Athosian do the same. She waits until Teyla has taken a sip before saying: "You didn't come here to talk about tea."

The other woman stiffens slightly, jaw clenching for a moment. "No." She speaks with great reluctance, as though she has been forced to this room by external forces.

Kate wonders how far that is from the truth.

"I wanted to speak to you about Colonel Sheppard." A flicker of guilt crosses Teyla's face, and her eyes turn away from Kate's and stare deep into the tea.

For the second time that day Kate finds herself surprised. She has already spoken to Elizabeth about her concerns, and Radek - stumbling through unusually poor English - had voiced similar emotions; but she had not expected to hear those fears from one of Sheppard's team. They have all experienced traumas, together as a team and as individuals, but no one ever spoke of it. McKay would never discuss how an event might impact Sheppard, and the Colonel rarely spoke at all. The team is impenetrable to the outside world, and Kate has always feared this might lead to their downfall.

Teyla's confession speaks volumes about how far the situation has deteriorated.

"I am concerned about how he is handling Doctor McKay's return to Earth."

Kate leans back in her seat, giving the impression of space and freedom, keeping her tone conversational. "As team leader the Colonel takes responsibility for his people's safety."

"But he is a soldier. He will…" Teyla pauses, then corrects herself. "This will not be the first time someone has been injured on a mission he has led. Nor will it be the first time that person has been a friend."

Kate senses that there is something more Teyla is keeping from her, but rather than push she changes tactic. "How do you believe Colonel Sheppard's behaviour has changed?"

Teyla sighs, clearly uncomfortable. "He has never favoured the rules of your military. He has always been more relaxed and at ease with his surroundings, more willing to approach a situation with an open mind."

"His command style is very different to, say, Colonel Caldwell's," Kate suggests. "He represents more of a traditional military commander."

Teyla smiles slightly at Kate's comment. "Yes. There is nothing at fault with either style, precisely, but given the directive for your people coming to this galaxy, I believe Colonel Sheppard's approach is better suited."

"But this has changed?"

The Athosian frowns, troubled. "He is…" she pauses, struggling for the words, "on edge. Not nervous, but certainly - expectant."

"Expecting what?"

"I am not sure. I think…" She breaks off, hesitant, then says: "I believe he expects something to go wrong. He sees danger in everything, evaluates everything for its risk."

Kate leans forward a little, ostensibly to pour herself more tea. "Forgive me, Teyla, but given the dangers inherent in exploration - isn't his a necessary attitude?" She raises a hand quickly, to stall any objection. "I just want to fully understand. I'm not part of the science department or the military, and I rarely go off-world. In many ways I am an outsider."

Teyla's shoulders relax a fraction. "You are partially correct. It is possible to view the Colonel's attitude as merely taking preventative measures against further harm. That is why I have not gone to Doctor Weir - I am afraid that the departure of Doctor McKay has made her as overly sensitive to the dangers of this galaxy as Colonel Sheppard."

"But you came here," Kate says, encouragingly.

Again Teyla hesitates. "My people do not see the Wraith in the same way as your people do. Your military view this as Ronon does - as a war. But for the Athosians, the Wraith only form part of life here. Yes, we battle against them for survival, but we have lived with this fear for so long it has become part of our culture - not a task, or a goal to be achieved."

Kate nods, thoughtfully. Though her professional conversations with the Athosians have been limited and brief, she is aware of their differing attitude - particularly in the younger generations, playing at being Wraith in the same way children from Earth might pretend to be werewolves or space aliens.

"We are traders, by nature, not warriors. And I believed your people to be explorers." An expression of worry crosses Teyla's face. "I believe Colonel Sheppard has forgotten that. He makes every decision for the team, he goes off-world having already decided to mistrust anyone we meet. He does not allow Doctor Zelenka the freedom to explore, to make new discoveries. I fear that by allowing his worries to determine his actions, the Colonel is jeopardizing the work of the team, and of this city." She stops, seeming both alarmed at her confessional outburst and relieved at its release.

Kate takes a moment before speaking. She picks up the pot of tea and gestures at Teyla's empty cup; the Athosian holds it out without seeming to acknowledge the offer, and for several seconds the only sound is liquid splashing into the bowl.

"Are things that bad?" Kate asks, as though the other woman isn't here as a patient or client, but as a colleague and friend. "It was Doctor Zelenka's first mission with the team, I understand. It is possible the Colonel is merely acting on his initial fears, and his feelings will change once he has become accustomed to having a new member of the team."

"It is possible," Teyla concedes, slowly. "But this is not just a matter of replacing Rodney. The Colonel's attitude to myself and Ronon has also changed. He no longer discusses missions with us, outside of briefings. He does not seek our opinions. He trains alone, and has missed the last three lessons I have offered him on Athosian weaponry. He has even started to avoid sharing meals. The Colonel has his reasons - paperwork, coaching new marines - but…" Teyla stops, looking pained. "He is cutting everyone out."

"Have you tried talking to him about it?"

Kate swears she sees the normally unflappable Athosian wince.

"I have tried. It did not go well." Teyla looks at her, earnestly. "I was hoping you could speak to him."

Silently Kate laughs. She would have to be the last person on Atlantis before Sheppard would willingly engage her in conversation - the last, or under orders from Weir or Beckett. "I doubt he would listen to me, Teyla, but I can speak to Doctor Weir."

Teyla nods, seeming disappointed.

"Teyla…" Kate pauses, wary of alienating her guest. "Is there something else? What you said before, about Colonel Sheppard having been on missions where colleagues, friends - were injured, even killed - you were right. He has experienced this before. If he is reacting to Rodney's departure as strongly as you say, then there must be a reason we haven't discussed."

Teyla's gaze dips to her lap. "They are close friends. The Colonel recently admitted to me that he sees us - myself, Ronon, Elizabeth, Carson and Rodney - as family."

Kate presses forward. "If that is the case, then why do you think he has shut you and Ronon out?"

For a long moment Teyla doesn't speak, staring into the thin cloud of steam rising from her cup with an odd look in her eyes. Softly, she says: "He is afraid."

"Of history repeating itself? Of someone else being hurt?"

"Of being responsible." Long, elegant fingers tighten around the porcelain cup. "He has taken the blame for Rodney's injury." She looks up, eyes dark. "I do not mean that he simply feels guilty - although that is true, Ronon and I feel the same - but the Colonel believes _he was the cause_."

"Why?" Kate asks, simply.

"Because Rodney told him he was." Teyla looks devastated, grief-stricken, as though something very dear to her has been thoughtlessly broken beyond repair.

Perhaps, Kate thinks, that isn't so very far from the truth.

Then the Athosian takes a breath, schooling her expression, her shoulders lifting and posture straightening. Teyla is the leader of her people again, strong and proud. She drains her cup, then places it on the table and starts to rise from her seat. Kate sighs inwardly, recognising that the conversation is over, that the Athosian has decided she has gone too far.

Teyla speaks as though she has said nothing of importance, as though nothing has passed between them.

"Thank you for the tea. I should go."

Kate presses her lips together and gives a slight nod. She waits until Teyla is half way to the door before speaking.

"Colonel Sheppard has never been a particular fan of the work I do."

Teyla pauses, turning back but not moving away from the door.

Kate continues. "I do know that despite the friendly, easy-going persona he likes to project, the Colonel is actually a very private individual. He has always had walls, keeping others out." She meets Teyla's gaze evenly. "In our sessions Rodney once told me how his friendship with the Colonel has surprised him, and how much he values their trust. I do not believe that has changed - and neither, I think, do you."

Teyla opens her mouth as if to respond, then stops.

"If the Colonel will not speak to any of his family on Atlantis, then perhaps you should look further out?" Kate puts her teacup on the table and spreads out her fingers against her skirt. "Try Rodney. I know he was angry and frustrated initially, after the mission. But I believe that was a coping mechanism - a flawed one, admittedly. But anger and frustration only burn brightly for so long." She gives a small smile. "The Colonel may not be the only one with regrets."

The Athosian nods, slowly, and returns the smile. "Thank you, Doctor Heightmeyer."

"Kate," she offers, warmly.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's Notes: Had a nice trip away, thanks. And thanks to you guys for the wonderful feedback I got to read when I returned! _

_Apologies in advance for this meandering nature of this chapter. I am going somewhere with this, or at least, I hope I am.

* * *

_

_McKay_

They keep his security clearance and passwords open. McKay suspects it is a transparent attempt by the NID to tempt him back into working for them; or some sort of guilt-borne gift from Sam.

Quite to his surprise, it has the opposite effect. McKay browses a couple of the mission reports sent by SG teams before realising that he would rather not know he had sat by, helpless and ignorant, while the world had come to within a hair's breadth of complete annihilation.

Besides, it isn't part of his life anymore.

He has browsed a selection of job opportunities, including a position with Homeland Security, despite his stubborn silence in front of Carter. The idea of continuing to work with alien technology is a tempting one, as is the salary. But then he thinks about handling discoveries found by someone else, reading Radek's notes sent back from Atlantis, and he decides he does not do second hand work.

Besides, like the mission reports, it would remind him of all he has lost.

There are positions with any number of powerful organisations, including NASA - although the thought of working on anything that short-range is laughable. He misses having a lab, having minions to order around, to bow before the genius of Rodney McKay, astrophysicist extraordinaire - but on Earth he will just be another manager, another HR nightmare.

Teaching is his currently preferred option. At an expensive university, McKay decides, one with sufficient resources but smaller class sizes - and he knows he can have his pick. He may not have been well _liked_, before Atlantis, but he was in demand, and he tries to remember the names of institutions whose letters he had thrown so carelessly away.

The next teaching year does not begin for another five months. McKay scribbles notes on the pad of paper on his career plan. Publish a couple of papers on the limited information he can use with SGC approval, remind the scientific world of his name and his potential. Make a few, vaguely interested noises around a couple of preferred universities, offer his skills as a consultant in the meanwhile, then wait for the negotiating to begin.

He smiles as he writes the email, part b of his plan, and mass mails it out to key peers.

There is a piece of paper stuck to the fridge. McKay hobbles across to it and pulls it down.

_1. Buy food._

_2. Get cat back._

_3. Look for job._

_4. Phone Jeanie._

He draws a careful line through number three, then pauses, tapping his pen against the kitchen counter.

* * *

McKay takes on his first student for free. 

He blames surprise for why he was unable to come up with a good excuse. Brian stands at his door, clutching a large, hard-backed book to his chest, a small white telescope tucked under one arm, looking down at his feet and scuffing his shoes against the floor, nervously.

"Doctor McKay."

"Brian." He looks down at the book. It reads, in thick black lettering, _First Guide to the Night Sky_. Even then, he doesn't put two and two together. "Do you need something?"

Brian shakes his head. Again McKay is struck by the boy's vulnerability; wonders whether he's self-sufficient, or does he live with his family; how long has he worked at the apartment building, and is that all he will ever do?

His 'guest' still stands in the doorway, silent and awkward, and for the sake of something to say McKay asks: "Look, do you want to come in?"

"No," Brian says, suddenly and loudly, then, equally impulsively: "Yes."

"Well?" Rodney asks, impatiently. "Which is it?"

"I want to see the stars."

He blinks, momentarily thrown. Then he glances behind him, at the window on the opposite wall. The night sky is black and clear, and above the lights of the street he can see a couple of pinpricks of light.

"Here?" he asks, sceptically.

"The light…" the boys waves a hand, vaguely, "you can see the park from here, where the street lights aren't as bright."

He raises an eyebrow. "Now?"

Brian bobs his head, then shakes it hurriedly, and starts to turn away. "Sorry. No. Not now. You're busy…"

McKay hesitates, ready to shut the door and forget the interruption. Then, he thinks, there is little on television tonight that he has any interest in, and his attempts at writing his first paper since his return have stalled in the first six thousand words.

And with the exception of Maggie, this is the longest conversation he has had for a week with anyone other than the Starbucks coffee girl.

"Alright," he says, grudgingly. "You can sit in the kitchen. Have the window open if you want." He moves aside to allow Brian to pass.

The boy bounces with each step, uncertainty now gone, and replaced by a pleased grin.

Behind his back, McKay rolls his eyes and curses his own stupidity.

"Don't touch anything!" he snaps.

He doesn't get a response. Brian disappears into the kitchen and after a moment, McKay decides to forget the boy is even in the apartment.

He takes up his seat on the couch and ignores the sound of a stool being dragged across the kitchen floor. He settles with his feet up, laptop a warm, reassuring weight against his stomach, and starts to reassess his paper.

Despite himself, he is distracted. So used to having the apartment on his own that the presence of company - even silent company in another room - throws him. He listens to the sound of a window opening, and the increased traffic noise.

"Brian?"

"Yes, Doctor McKay?"

He frowns, and stabs at the laptop with one finger. "There's soda in the fridge. Help yourself."

"Thank you."

Job as host done, McKay turns his attention fully back to the computer.

* * *

Spot is a slender creature with glossy black fur and yellow eyes. While other cats sit behind glass and mew for attention, Spot doesn't even bother to lift his head from his basket, offering the world a disinterested view. 

McKay decides he likes the attitude, and takes him home.

The cat's original name is Billy, which he deems ridiculous, but Spot seems to take to the renaming without issue. He spends the first two hours exploring the apartment, while McKay lies on the sofa and edits a paper. Eventually he slopes towards the couch and curls up on an arm, apparently satisfied with his new home.

McKay takes great pleasure in drawing a line across number two on his fridge.

_1. Buy food._

_2. Get cat back._

_3. Look for job._

_4. Phone Jeanie._

He stares at number four for a long time, before chickening out.

After all, McKay reasons, he isn't sure how long he will stay in this town, whether he'll move to a new location in search of the perfect university.

It is six weeks since he returned to Earth. Enough time for the Daedalus to have made a round trip. McKay isn't certain that anything will arrive for him, but he's pleased when it does.

The package contains four letters and a bundle of computer discs. A yellow post-stik note is stuck to the top one and reads, in Zelenka's untidy scrawl: 'For Atlantis' official advisor.'

The title makes him smile.

He puts the letters to one side, then gets up to make lunch. Takes his time over the bread, the cheese, keeps the grill on a low heat and watches the concoction melt.

After he is done, he takes the sandwich and a glass of juice and heads back to the coffee table, to set up the laptop. Then he spends the afternoon browsing Zelenka's gift.

Schematics, diagrams, test results, minutes of staff meetings, new theories put forward and old ones rubbished. Each is filed neatly in a series of subfolders, and each comes with an explanatory text file from Zelenka, to tie them together.

The information belongs to his own work. Projects left unfinished and abandoned. Some were long term plans - how to conserve power, how to strengthen the shield. Many are dream goals, for if they ever found those elusive ZPMs, if they could power the entire city. How to control the chairs without needing the gene; how to replenish the store of drones; how to power the engines.

Rodney knows there is no way Zelenka could have got the information past SGC security checks without inside help. Despite his security clearance, he is technically no longer an employee of the SGC and out of the loop. This is a present from Sam, as much as it is from Radek.

McKay stops at the last file. By now it is early evening, and the sun is beginning to set. He hasn't moved off the couch once, and now the main source of light in the room is from the laptop's screen.

Spot yawns, and stretches across the arm of the sofa. His mouth is pink, breath hot with the smell of cat food.

McKay stares at the lettering, at the schematics, at his own words written with enthusiasm and optimism. Scribbled in a drug-fuelled insomnia after the siege, bouncing ideas off Zelenka.

Abruptly McKay rips out the CD, throws it to the far end of the couch, then slams the laptop shut. He stuffs it onto the lower shelf of the coffee table, ignoring the copies of New Scientist and old newspapers it dislodges onto the floor.

It isn't that he doesn't appreciate Radek's thoughtfulness. That the desire to continue unfinished business isn't alluring.

But even if Atlantis finds her ZPMs, he won't ever see her fly.

* * *

Brian has visited him three times in the last two weeks. McKay treats him with less attention than he gives Spot, although now he goes to the effort of opening the window and pulling up the stool. 

It occurs to him, the third time, that given Brian's job it would be a simple matter to go up to the roof, to gain a better view, clear of surrounding buildings and lights from the street.

"Your first fan," Maggie says, when he asks her about it.

They are in the gym, and he is pushing against a resistant weight, while Maggie holds his calf loosely and judges his effort. His stamina is improving, his body now able to take him as far as the end of the street and a little beyond before he has to turn back.

The slow going is frustrating, as is the knowledge that at some point he will reach his limitation. He fears the day he will stop improving, when he will beat against the restrictions of his body to no avail.

Maggie treats his mood swings without reaction, remaining calm because she knows it infuriates him.

"He isn't a fan," he retorts, sharply.

"Maybe he's lonely." She adjusts the position of her hands on his leg slightly. "Maybe he thinks you're lonely."

Rodney scowls. "I'm perfectly happy."

"No, you're not. And that's not what I said." Maggie presses her fingers into muscle. "Have you tried asking him?"

He blusters. "He just comes to use the window."

"Just yours? Or do you think he appears at the door of every resident?"

"It's weird."

"But you still let him in." She releases her hold, and adjusts his foot so it presses in a different way against the weight. "Look, McKay, he's just a kid."

"He's an adult."

"You know what I mean."

McKay frowns, shifting a little on the bench so his back lies flat against its surface. "I don't do well with kids."

Maggie makes a surprised face and gasps in mock horror. "No? You struck me as the maternal type."

"Har har."

"And you were one once."

"I grew up very quickly," he replies, hotly.

Maggie grins at him, returning her hands to their grip around his leg, this time just below his knee. "You're improving," she says, incongruously. "Less trembling."

He has noticed the change, though he hasn't admitted to it. "I've been walking further."

"Good. You need the exercise." She nods at his stomach. "You're putting on weight."

McKay glares at her, but he can't argue, and it isn't just because Maggie records his weight once a week. He is aware of his body changing, of the muscle gained through frantic off-world runs slowly turning to fat, of his shape changing back to the slightly podgy version that existed pre-Atlantis.

"Treat him like a mini you," Maggie suggests, again switching topics. "He's clearly a geek."

He huffs indignantly. "I'm not a geek."

"Right." She draws out the word, like Sheppard would, _riiight_, dripping in sarcasm. "Just talk to him, McKay. You never know, you might make a friend."

* * *

The letters from Atlantis vary in size and content, and McKay reads them slowly, and with great care. 

The longest is from Radek, and is a mix of gossip, technical discussions conducted inside the Czech's head, and the occasional rant at departmental politics. It has been written over a period of time, and in different coloured ink, as though the scientist has scribbled down thoughts in the brief breaks of each day. It is stained with coffee and grease, and smells like the lab - although McKay will never admit he actually _sniffed the paper _just to see if he was right.

One is from Miko. She writes in a delicate, flowery script, and talks of chemistry experiments with the eloquence of a poet. The only ugliness comes from patches of black scribbles which mar the page intermittently, and McKay wonders at the letter's distant tone, as though Miko's real feelings and expressions are hidden beneath thick lines.

On reflection, McKay decides he's glad of that. He had done his best to ignore the woman's crush, despite teasing from both Radek and Carson. Mostly because he _likes_ Miko, if not in the way she might want him to, and as long as she keeps her feelings quiet he does not risk hurting her.

The third is from Elizabeth, and the fourth from Carson. The Scot fills his with references to his own family, suggesting that Rodney pay them a visit, that Mrs Beckett is always glad of guests and would make him feel at home.

Yes, McKay thinks, dryly, because Scotland is just around the corner, and turning up uninvited at the house of a stranger wouldn't be odd at all.

Still, he is touched at the invite.

Elizabeth's is stilted for the first part, then apologetic for the rest, and he has to take a break from reading it before he tears the paper up in frustration. She speaks of guilt, and of self-doubt, of questioning the participation of civilians on off-world teams - as though there is any other choice, McKay thinks. As though the scientists could bear to be restrained.

"Doctor McKay?"

He looks up. Brian stands in the space between the kitchen and the living area, hovering awkwardly.

"Sorry," the boy says, immediately.

McKay scowls at the apology, and puts Elizabeth's letter to one side. "You weren't interrupting anything," he says, shortly. "You don't need to keep apologising for things."

Brian opens his mouth, the s-word ready to trip off his lips, then he closes it quickly. He points at the papers on the coffee table. "Is that what you're working on?"

Rodney hesitates. "No. They're letters from some, ah, some people I know."

Taking a nervous step into the room, Brian says: "I like getting letters. I have two pen friends. Are they yours?"

"Something like that." McKay remembers what Maggie told him, to talk to his new 'fan.' "Can, ah - can you see many stars, tonight?"

He is answered with a shrug. "There are clouds. They're getting thinner, though."

"How long?"

Brian flinches. "I can leave now…"

"No," McKay interrupts, aggravated, "I didn't mean that. I meant how long before the skies clear. And you can stay as long as you want. You're, ah…" He searches for a compliment. "You're quiet. I like that."

The boy smiles, quickly and brightly. "My mom says I'm quiet too." The smile falters. "She doesn't like it. She says I should be more friendly."

McKay shrugs. "Being friendly is overrated." He glances at the kitchen, then out at the night sky. "Did you need something?"

Brian flushes, and gestures towards the bathroom.

"Oh. Go ahead."

McKay settles back against the sofa, and picks up Radek's letter again.

* * *

McKay is sat on the couch, studying the details of several jobs offered by two prestigious universities. He suspects he is beginning to form an ass-shaped dent in the couch's surface. 

Several windows are open. Outside the air is pleasantly warm, spring turning to summer. The sky is blue, and dotted with perfect clouds. Sunlight falls on his laptop screen and makes the words difficult to see, but despite attempting to move the laptop in a multitude of different ways, McKay is unable to shadow the device and he is reluctant to draw the curtains.

He has always preferred the indoors, especially on Atlantis, where outside was only ocean and salt. But confinement hasn't sat easily with him, and now Rodney feels restless, drawn to the world outside which has been denied to him for several months.

Giving in to temptation, McKay shuts the laptop and places it on the coffee table. He picks up a copy of New Scientist he hasn't read yet, then gets to his feet and goes to the bedroom to fetch his coat.

He has spent so long wearing the thick uniforms of Atlantis that wearing casual clothes seems strange. He _had_ his own clothes in Pegasus, but frequent washings in the city's industrial Laundromat threatened to leave them threadbare and faded, and at least replacements for uniforms were easy to order.

He wears jeans, and two t-shirts, one long-sleeved and one short, and a jacket over the top. His new home is several degrees colder than Atlantis, and he feels the chill where previously he would never have noticed.

Walking to the lift, he meets his neighbour - Mrs Thirsk, a woman in her late fifties with a penchant for leopard skin and heavy lipstick. She smells heavily of expensive perfume, and her nails are long and brightly painted. Her reaction to first meeting McKay was one of suspicion, but after another week he bumped into her in the lobby, and she had apologised for her initial reaction. _The tenants before you were obnoxious_, she said, _young boys with loud stereos_.

McKay is neither a boy, nor the type to own a loud stereo, but apparently it took Mrs Thirsk several days to realise this.

"Mister McKay," she greets him, never seeming to remember his title.

"Morning," he says, uncertainly.

She raises an eyebrow, and says pointedly: "_Afternoon_. Going out?"

He glances down at the stick in one hand, and the magazine in the other. "Yes."

"Nice day."

Rodney hates small talk, always has, but his efforts to move around the woman and access the elevator are thwarted. She lifts her head determinedly, and says: "That boy, downstairs. Brian."

He blinks, momentarily thrown. "What about him?"

"He's a good person. Not all there, though. He's naïve. It wouldn't be right for anyone to take advantage of him."

McKay's eyes widen as he leaps to conclusions. "I am not that type of person!"

She looks him up and down, and says: "Not _that_. But you show the boy some attention and he's your friend for life. He doesn't know when someone's just humouring him." She pauses, then says: "I'm just saying," and turns toward her door.

McKay says nothing, sputtering nonsensically while the woman disappears into her apartment. Eventually he scowls at the closed door, hitting the button for the elevator.

"As if," he says, to the empty hallway. The doors close on his words.

The lobby is deserted, but a Batman comic lies open on the desk. McKay finds himself wondering if he should wait for a minute, just to say hello - then criticises himself for being so ridiculous. He doesn't know the boy well, doesn't want to give the impression that this is a friendship - Mrs Thirsk's words echoing in his head.

He doesn't need company, he tells himself, sharply.

Outside the roads are unusually quiet, the sun warm against the back of his neck. He crosses the street without any trouble, and walks beneath the iron arch which stands as the entrance to the local park.

The space between the buildings is large, its outer edge lined with trees and thick shrubs. One end is home to a small play park, and the other is an expanse of lawn suitable for picnics. In the centre is an artificial pond and fountain, and it is to this which McKay walks.

His steps are slow and uneven, and he sticks to the cement path rather than risk muddying his stick on the grass. Around the pond are positioned several wooden benches, and he takes a seat on one with a satisfied sigh.

Around the park, red bricked buildings line the horizon. McKay can see his own apartment windows, and if he squints, he can make out Spot's outline as the cat sleeps on the 'sil. There are birds circling above the trees, and the sound of traffic is muffled by trees and the gentle splash of the fountain.

He stretches out his legs, resting the cane against the bench.

Opposite sit two elderly women, deep in conversation. An older man is just turning the corner, walking a small dog on a lead.

New Scientist temporarily forgotten, McKay lets his head drop back and enjoys his surroundings. His home has shrunk from an unexplored galaxy to a single street block, but for the moment, he decides he rather likes it here.

* * *

One of the of the computer discs sent by Radek contains a video file, titled in simple digits. McKay only realises it is there on his second viewing. He is in bed, Spot curled up around his feet and kneading the duvet. 

It is three days since he first received the package, but he has been reluctant to rush its opening. He feels foolish, childish, like a kid at Christmas, and part of his slowness is down to an attempt at maturity.

Curiosity piqued, he opens the file and turns the volume up.

The image of Teyla fills the screen, shot from her shoulders up, the picture grainy and slightly distorted. She looks ill at ease, continually casting glances toward the cameraman.

"Is this right?" she asks, her forehead furrowed.

"Yes," the faceless cameraman replies, and from the voice McKay recognises Radek. "Just look into the lens."

She nods, and adjusts her position slightly so she can look forward. She hesitates before speaking.

"Hello Rodney. It is Teyla."

"Obviously," he mumbles, without bite, drawn in by the video.

"With my people it is customary to send letters to those who live far away, but although I can read your people's script I am not yet confident in writing my own. I feared my message would make little sense." She pauses, and again looks away from the camera towards the Czech. "This is recording?"

"Every word," Radek replies. A pale hand flashes in front of the lens in a white blur. "Hello, Rodney."

McKay pulls a face, and tries to ignore the painful pang of homesickness he feels at hearing their voices.

He has turned his back on Atlantis' technology, but her people seem a little harder to forget.

"Doctor McKay." Teyla has turned her attention back to the camera. "Rodney. I hope you are well. Colonel Carter informed Doctor Weir that the healing device did not work as it was hoped." Her expression darkens, eyes sorrowful. Sorrow, McKay realises, swallowing a lump in his throat. Not sympathy or pity or condescension. "I am sorry," Teyla says, and he believes her, and the revelation is so intense he has to pause the video.

McKay reaches out for his coffee cup beside the bed, and wills his hand to stop shaking.

He takes a sip, and hits play.

"I understand why it is better than you remain on Earth," Teyla continues. "But I would rather this were not the case." She smiles, and looks into the camera unblinkingly, so that for a moment McKay can fool himself into thinking the Athosian is in the room. "You are missed, Rodney McKay."

He swallows again, tongue thick and heavy.

"Things have been _different_, since you left. Doctor Zelenka has taken your position on the team, and we have been on several successful missions. The scientists continue to study Atlantis. Several have told me how much they miss you." Her eyes sparkle. "Doctor Kusanagi in particular."

McKay groans, and off-camera he hears Radek do the same.

"I know both Doctor Beckett and Doctor Weir feel your absence. Radek…"

"Radek?" McKay squeaks, indignantly. "You're on first name terms?"

"Radek has taken your position as chief scientist most admirably, but they miss their friend. As do I." Teyla stops, and looks down at her hands. "Ronon… he does not speak to me about you, and perhaps that says enough. Colonel Sheppard…"

McKay tugs the laptop closer, frowning.

"It is difficult." Teyla presses her lips together for a moment, then looks up into the camera lens, staring right at Rodney. "I am aware you exchanged words, not long after we returned from the planet. I do not know what was said, and perhaps I am wrong in my assumptions. If that is the case, then I ask that you forgive me." Her tone is suddenly harder, her calm exterior now a restraint. "You were hurt, angry - and, I believe, scared. This I understand, but it does not justify…" She breaks off, shaking her head. "It affected him, Rodney. You were only thinking of yourself."

His hands curl around the duvet. McKay has not thought of his conversation with Sheppard since returning to Earth - deliberately.

Those weeks after returning from the planet and leaving on the Daedalus were not his proudest moments. Much was a blur, a haze of painkillers and black moods, with days blending into each other, only interrupted by outbursts of anger.

What he can remember, he wishes he could forget.

"He will not speak to me about it. I have tried, but…" she glances surreptitiously at Zelenka.

"He is stubborn," Radek snaps, from behind the camera. "As are you, Rodney. You both snap at each other then leave us to deal with the effects."

Rodney's mouth drops open in protest. "Hey, Sheppard's issues aren't…"

"I would like to think that you are my friend," Teyla interrupts, deliberately turning her attention away from Zelenka. "As you are a friend of the Colonel's. And I do not believe that you can still be angry, that you still mean what you said to him. For my part…" She pauses, taking a deep breath. "You are a brave man, Rodney. Your actions in saving the Colonel's life prove that. This is why I trust you will do as I ask."

He winces, knowing what Teyla is about to say before she speaks.

"Please, Rodney, speak to the Colonel. You are the only one he will listen to."

He stares at the laptop, aware of his heart hammering in his chest.

Teyla looks at the camera for a moment, then tilts her head to glance at Radek. "Is that enough?"

"I hope," says Radek.

The video cuts off abruptly, returning to the plain blue of the desktop. For several minutes McKay doesn't move, his hands still holding the edge of the duvet, while Spot sleeps on regardless.

When after five minutes the screensaver switches on, he moves. Shuts down the laptop and pushes it to one side. His leg hurts, a deep ache he cannot ignore through willpower alone. McKay takes double his normal dose, then sinks down into the bed, but it takes him a long while before he sleeps.

* * *

The next day Maggie greets him with: "You look like crap." 

He growls, but scrubs a hand over his face and attempts to adjust his posture. "I didn't sleep. My leg hurt."

She looks doubtful, but doesn't object, patting the bench beside her. "Then just a massage for today?"

It is the first time they have skipped the session in the gym, and McKay senses that Maggie is pandering to his mood, but he decides he can't be bothered to pretend. He _is_ tired, exhausted, his movements sluggish and thoughts unfocussed. He clambers onto the bed and lies face down, head encircled by the hole in the table.

"You do seem tense," she remarks, as her hands touch his calf.

"Like I said, it hurts."

Which isn't true. No more than usual, anyway.

His sleep was sporadic, the night disturbed by flashbacks.

On Anara…

_Gunfire. He hates gunfire. It makes him think of the Genii, and Kolya, and the feel of steel against his skin. He wonders, while running between trees with Sheppard beside him, if these weapons are Genii in origin. If the Anaracians traded for them on a distant world, or made their own, equally lethal copies._

_No, he does not like gunfire. But it is a shot to his left, too close, far too damn close that makes him turn._

_Sheppard doesn't make a sound as he falls._

Maggie presses her fingers into muscle, making the toes in his foot twitch spasmodically. McKay doesn't comment.

_He does speak while lying on the ground, while lying on the ground as blood spills from his neck and stains the grass and McKay wonders how much blood the human body can possibly hold, because there is an awful lot of it. _

"_Go."_

_He lifts his head while fumbling for a bandage, and meets Sheppard's glazed expression._

"_Go, McKay," Sheppard repeats, and McKay curses man's inability to grow a third arm, as one is occupied in his pack and the other clutches at his friend's neck while warmth seeps between his fingers._

"_Oh, no," he snaps, his voice shaky and broken. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Make it an order, so you can play the damn martyr. No way. I'm not kowtowing at your grave, Colonel, so you can stop that right now."_

"Seen your fan again?" Maggie asks.

The room smells of disinfectant and something else - lavender, maybe. "A couple of times," McKay says, absently. "And he's not my fan."

_Sheppard tries to protest, but his words are lost in a hideous, wet-sounding gurgle. McKay's sleeve is stained deep red, and the colour is seeping past his wrist. He wants to sound calm, controlled, but instead his words come out the wrong side of hysterical._

"_I don't really do well with medical stuff, Colonel, so if you'd like to stop bleeding to death, I'd really appreciate it."_

_And then John's eyes roll up to the back of his head._

"_Oh hell, no, don't…"_

_And McKay has to decide if it is worse to release his hold on Sheppard's neck - oh god, aren't there _arteries_ in there? - or does he stop to apply a bandage knowing that it will give their enemies time to capture them._

He wasn't in pain, last night. Not fresh. A remembered injury, an echo he can't shake, even with tablets and massages and therapy.

_Sheppard's body slung over his shoulder - how much does the man weigh - and McKay is running across an alien world with weapons fire behind him, and he is trying not to think of the blood which is still now running freely from his friend's neck down his back._

_And there - the Stargate, beneath the trees, the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. He leaves bloodied handprints on the DHD…_

He has stood against the cool glass of his apartment windows and pressed his fingers against their surface, just to see the outline of warmth which remains. But it isn't the same.

_And then a blast from behind him, which throws him forward and through into the event horizon and he thinks god, that was lucky, to be sent home…_

Maggie presses a little too deeply, and something in McKay's leg flares angrily. His body jerks, and she drops her hands.

"Sorry."

"Be more damn careful!" he snaps, his face flushed and hot.

"Hey." She grabs his ankle with both hands, pinning him back to the mattress. "No need to be rude."

"Then do your job right," he retorts, without lifting his head, directing his comments at the floor.

Maggie's hands tighten their grip. "So it was your leg that kept you awake?" she says, sarcastically. "Boy, who knew you could be this cranky. You know, you'd do better if you admitted the truth."

He bites his lip. "I don't know what you're talking about."

_Waking in the middle of the night gasping and sweating, not knowing where he was, holding his hands out in front of him as though his skin was still slick with Sheppard's blood…_

"No?" She resumes massaging his leg. "I'm just your therapist. Only physical, fortunately, but I'm not aware of you having any other."

"I don't need…"

"Right." Maggie scoffs, audibly. "You don't need a shrink. But you have to talk to someone, McKay."

McKay closes his eyes, and is glad she cannot see his face. Immediately he thinks, _there isn't anyone_.

But he's wrong.


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

_Sheppard_

"_I can bring it back under control! Just give me a second!"_

"_No you can't!"_

"_Just one second!"_

John wakes, sweaty and panting heavily, sheets tangled around his body. He fights to free himself, pushing himself off the mattress and heading into the bathroom, where he splashes cold water onto his face and won't look at his reflection in the mirror.

He is used to having his sleep disrupted, but recently his dreams have been more vivid and twisted, flashbacks to previous missions gone wrong. Each is accompanied with feelings of shame and guilt, and in an effort to shake them he goes running.

Sheppard doesn't need Heightmeyer to point out the cause.

Yesterday was the team's third off-world mission as a team of four, with Zelenka in McKay's place.

The world had long been uninhabited, the remains of a settlement overgrown with vines and moss. The team were exploring the ruined remains of a temple when a wall had collapsed.

No one was harmed, but Teyla was trapped in the space beyond the rocks for an hour before Zelenka was able to find another entry point.

Sheppard spent the full sixty minutes pacing up and down behind the scientist's back, alternating between silence or throwing insults. Unlike McKay, Radek does not snap back, and though the words made him work faster his efforts were sloppier, more panicked.

Ronon lurked behind Sheppard, several times stepping between him and the Czech. He said nothing, but his thunderous expression spoke volumes.

Sound carried through gaps between the rocks. Teyla assured Sheppard of her status, unharmed and with plenty of air, but it did little to calm him.

He was well aware of his unfairness, demanding miracles from Zelenka and blaming him when those miracles weren't produced.

But he couldn't stop himself.

When Teyla emerges it is clear from her reaction that she has heard every word. She ignores Sheppard's greeting, moving past him to thank Zelenka.

Her hand grasped the Czech's shoulder. Sheppard stared at the action, then turned away, declaring the mission over.

By the time they return to Atlantis they were dusty, tired, and barely speaking to each other.

Not a team, Sheppard thinks, pulling on a black t-shirt, then grabbing a water bottle sat at his bedside.

Outside the corridors of Atlantis are quiet, lights dimmed. The middle of the night, and Sheppard thinks he is the only one up aside from the skeleton staff in the control room.

He walks to the nearest transporter, selecting an uninhabited wing some distance from the populated sections of the city.

The cave-in demonstrates the dangers in exploration without thinking. Moving with too much enthusiasm, forgetting the risks.

Sheppard starts with a jog, then picks up speed quickly. His shoes are comfortable but worn, and he makes a mental note to pick up a new pair the next time he is back on Earth.

This time there were no injuries, but they were lucky. A few inches either way and Teyla might have been seriously hurt - or worse.

He does not need to imagine the possibility. His overactive subconscious does that for him. The bloodied faces in his dreams change identity - Teyla one night, Elizabeth or Carson the next - and they continue to haunt him during the day.

Except for one.

"_I'm not kowtowing at your grave, Colonel…"_

His run is now a sprint, uneven and slightly wobbly. Atlantis responds to his mood, opening doors to allow him to pass without slowing, the lights bright and burning glares into his retinas.

There is a scar on his neck, pink but fading to white. When Sheppard lays his hand over it, the skin burns.

Let Teyla and Ronon be mad at him. He would rather that than the alternative.

He is the military leader of Atlantis. He makes decisions on protocol, on what constitutes a risk worth taking, and what should be avoided.

The Wraith. The Genii.

And crumbling buildings with no real offer of anything promising…

But everyone knows where curiosity got the cat.

"_You would have trusted Rodney to make that decision…"_

"_And look where that got him!"_

His muscles start to burn, a band tightening across his chest. Sheppard ignores the protests of his body and pushes himself to move faster.

As though he can outrun his demons.

Protecting those under his command - that is his key responsibility. Not finding new technology, or making new alliances. He will not sacrifice one for another. He has been in wars where man after man has been thrown into the front line. If one falls, another will take their place.

Sheppard thought he had left that mantra behind.

He has allowed himself to become too relaxed, his methods too sloppy. Allowed the scientists free reign, and now they stumble into danger - nanoviruses, booby traps, lethal weaponry - without looking first.

People have been killed.

And alliances! Diplomacy, a hope that Elizabeth clings to - and where has it led them? The Genii, the Hoffans, _Michael_…

Stepping onto each planet with a smile, as though that can protect them…

And people are _dead_.

_Dear Mr or Mrs Doe…_

_I am sorry to tell you that your son was killed in action…_

And he has forgotten the importance of distance, needing to retain his position of subjectiveness so he can make the decisions needed to protect lives. The lives of everyone in Atlantis.

Not just Beckett - _who was captured by Michael and tortured for information -_ or Elizabeth - _infected by nanites_ - or Ronon ­_- used and beaten by the Wraith as a training exercise_ - or McKay…

His left leg shakes, then folds abruptly under the strain, and Sheppard tumbles to the floor, barely able to put out his hands in time. The jolt of an awkward landing sends painful shudders up his wrists and arms and for a moment he doesn't move. He lies crumpled on the floor, holding himself up with his arms and panting heavily, sweat dripping into his eyes.

Difficult decisions have to be made.

But this is the hardest.

* * *

_Ronon_

For the first time in over a year, Ronon starts to consider leaving Atlantis.

He would miss Teyla, and has a fondness for Zelenka and Beckett that he will never admit to. And for the most part, he likes the military here. He initially thought them weak, a poor substitute for the army of Sateda, but unlike the military minds Ronon is used to, the people from Earth are willing to learn. What he judged as softness has now revealed itself as something more complex. Sateda was in a war - Earth are explorers, and though technically all the military are responsible for is protecting the scientists, they are caught up in the excitement and wonder of Atlantis.

The feeling is infectious, though Ronon attempts to ignore it.

He does not stay because of them.

Nor is it out of loyalty. These people who helped him end his life as a runner, who have allowed him to find a home amongst them.

It was Sheppard that showed him the potential of life here. The possibility of building a home here.

Sat in the Atlantis food hall with Sheppard, watching McKay and Radek bicker over a subject he cannot understand, while Carson and Teyla look on with mild amusement.

"_The place has a way of surprising you," _Sheppard said, privately, so only Ronon could hear. _"_They_ have a way of surprising you."_

It is not that he has ever needed familial bonds, or cannot survive without company. But now those bonds are broken, Ronon realises he is _not_ bound to this place, or its people. He can return to the few remaining Satedans, if he wishes. Or elsewhere, and set up home independently of others.

McKay's departure has left him feeling ill at ease. Beckett, Weir - even Teyla have tried to explain the reasons behind the scientist's leaving, but he stubbornly refuses to admit the practicalities.

And late at night, when his body lies restless in his bed, unable to shake the feeling of confinement, Ronon goes looking for the absent scientist.

McKay is another one he initially misjudged. Strung upside down by his ankle, wearing a ridiculous outfit and spluttering incoherently. Ronon had mistaken him for a bureaucrat - whiny and petulant and annoying. All of which is true, but he had quickly learnt that McKay's obnoxious qualities hid a strength and quick intelligence Ronon has never witnessed before.

He secretly suspects McKay is the most dangerous man in the city.

"_He can be… hard work,"_ Teyla explains, when he asks her why Sheppard keeps the scientist on the team. _"I had the same doubts as you, Ronon, when I first met Doctor McKay. But I have learnt that the face Rodney chooses to present to the world is not the same as what is inside. He is trustworthy and brave, and he has saved our lives many times, often risking his own to do so."_

Which at the time he had found impossible to believe, given the way the man would whine over something so meaningless as a stubbed toe.

And yet…

Aside from a mutual appreciation of food, the only thing they have in common is odd sleeping habits. Walking through the corridors of Atlantis late at night, finally free of his military guard but not of insomnia, Ronon found McKay working in his lab.

The scientist was bent over a device Ronon didn't recognise, an array of tools scattered across the table. He was alone, and unaware of being watched.

It had been the expression on the man's face which had made Ronon pause. Completely different to the one he wore during the day. This was a complex mix of emotions - intense concentration, a passion for his work, curiosity, determination - and beneath it all, a trace of desperation. As though McKay's work was of life and death importance.

It was several more weeks before Ronon realised he was right.

By that point he had visited the scientist several more times in his lab. Never announcing his presence, slipping in between two tall cabinets and taking up sentry duty, watching while McKay worked, the other man oblivious to any interruption.

Religion has never interested Ronon, but the idea of faith has. His was torn from him when his wife was killed, when his world was destroyed.

McKay's consumes him.

A passion, a drive for something more, for improvement, for the unachievable. Ronon doesn't understand it, but he does envy its strength, and those nights spent watching McKay were in the hope that he would somehow absorb some of it.

In time, he began to recognise it in all the people of his new home.

Teyla, wearing her faith on her sleeve, a belief in her people and in herself. Beckett, like McKay, placing his in science and the search for more. Weir has faith in people, in the population of Atlantis and in the allies they make - no matter how many are worn thin or broken. Sheppard's faith was invested in the others, in their lives, and Ronon started to share this feeling.

It was not something he could ever describe very well. But now it has been lost, everything has changed. He feels bereft, directionless. After his wife's death he had no time to stop, driven by only the need to survive. Now he has time to think, and to subconsciously seek out and renew his faith.

Zelenka is just as oblivious as McKay was to the Satedan's watchful eye. If Ronon turns his head just slightly, he sees the scientist lit in silhouette, and could confuse the smaller man with McKay. Both hunched over their computers, clearly uncomfortable but also unwilling to move. McKay would tap a pen against the table; Zelenka fiddles with his glasses. Both survive on coffee - not a substance Ronon has grown to tolerate. Both are completely absorbed by their work, Zelenka muttering to himself in a foreign tongue while McKay would hiss insults beneath his breath, usually of other scientists but occasionally directed at himself.

The image is oddly comforting.

On a night like this it would not be unusual for Ronon to meet Sheppard, flushed and bright eyed, running through the halls of Atlantis. Often the pair would run together, Ronon never admitting that he slowed down so that the other man could keep up. But it has been too long since that happened.

He is angry at Sheppard. The man's stubbornness is well known, but it does not justify his current actions. His aloofness, his distance. As though that can keep someone else from being injured. As though the universe is _that_ simple.

Ronon wonders if Sheppard is so short-sighed as to believe he is the only one to feel guilty. To have gone over and over events in his head, replaying the mission and imagining different choices.

He knows, from bitter experience, that it doesn't help.

It is moments like this when the memory of Melena's death hits him most strongly.

"If you are to stay there all night, you should take a seat."

Ronon starts, his thoughts disturbed. Zelenka hasn't moved, but his reflection in a nearby metal plate looks back at Ronon quizzically.

"Sorry," he grunts, taking a step into the light, feeling foolish. "How'd you spot me?"

Zelenka shrugs, pointing at a nearby stool, which Ronon takes. "Working with Doctor Kavanagh, I have started to develop a sense for when things are not quite as they should be. Of course, with Kavanagh, it is usually when something is about to go ka-boom." He gestures with his hands widely.

Ronon tries to make himself comfortable on the stool, but his legs are too long and he has to stretch out to sit securely. "McKay never noticed."

"Perhaps," the scientist admits. "Rodney can be very single minded when he is caught up in a project."

Ronon suddenly wonders how many times he was spotted, and McKay chose to say nothing.

"Stay," Zelenka says, pushing the device on the table a little away from him. "I am not getting far with this. A break would be good."

The scientist looks tired, Ronon realises. Pale, and more untidy than usual, eyes bloodshot behind his glasses.

He looks at the device, trying to work out what it is. "Is that from the Ancient storage place?"

Zelenka glances at it and nods. "Yes." He sighs. "It is one of the rare occasions where I am glad most of the devices were in ruins. There is such a backlog of work left by McKay, and the new scientists who arrived in the last Daedalus' run need training…" He stops, rubbing a hand across his face. "Sorry. I did not mean to complain."

Ronon shrugs. "Everyone has to at some point."

The scientist smiles ruefully. "Rodney did frequently, and at great volume."

"You miss him," Ronon says, without hesitation.

Zelenka stares into his coffee cup. "Things are not the same," he says, glumly. Then he frowns, glancing back at Ronon. "You came to the labs often?"

"Sometimes," he replies, casually. He feels uncomfortable with the confession, unsure of how to explain his reasoning and hoping he isn't asked.

His reluctance seems to be apparent, because Zelenka simply nods and says: "It is the only place on Atlantis which never seems to sleep, I think."

Ronon nods. He isn't sure how to converse with the scientist. He knows Zelenka enough to trust his intelligence and his bravery, but he does not yet have a firm hold on the man's personality. He enjoyed intimidating McKay, with his size and his presence, knowing McKay played up to the pretence of fear. The insults were mild and exchanged with good humour. When Ronon had asked Beckett to describe the meaning behind 'Conan,' he had secretly been quite pleased with the explanation.

For something to say, he asks: "You got enough time to go on tomorrow's mission?"

"Oh, yes," Zelenka says. "Doctor Weir told me to delegate. It works well." Then he frowns, looking towards Ronon quickly, then glancing away. "You are ready?"

Ronon grunts, shifting awkwardly on the stool. "Yeah."

Both men lapse into silence, clearly wanting to speak but neither willing to. Ronon isn't sure whether it is his place - he is used to keeping his protests to himself, a policy borne through military training and steeped in mistrust.

Zelenka makes the choice for him. "I have been thinking, perhaps it would be better if I stayed on Atlantis."

Ronon raises an eyebrow. "Tomorrow?"

"Permanently. Aside from when I am needed, of course. Colonel Sheppard," he says the words with an angry emphasis, "clearly feels that there is no need for a scientist to be included on an off-world team."

"Sheppard's wrong."

"Perhaps. But his position…" Zelenka shakes his head. "He will not listen to reason. And I cannot work while having my every decision questioned and my actions blocked…" He trails off, cheeks flushing slightly in guilt. "He is only acting to protect us, I know, but it will not work."

Ronon nods. He feels an urge to reassure Zelenka, to assure him that his confessional will be held in confidence. An exchange of secrets. "I might leave."

Zelenka lifts his head, surprised. "Atlantis?"

"Maybe."

The reaction is not quite what he expects. The scientist nods thoughtfully, pushing his glasses up his nose with one finger.

"I would understand. This is not what you signed up for."

Ronon frowns, wondering at his own transparency. "I like it here," he says, in attempt to justify himself.

"But it is not the same as it was." Zelenka sighs, clasping his hands together. "So things are that bad, then? I was afraid but, I did not really think it would get to this point. Where would you go?"

He shrugs. "There are some survivors from my people."

"Can you wait a little longer before you make up your mind?"

"I've not decided anything yet."

"I hope…" Zelenka hesitates, clearly torn between his desire to reassure the Satedan and some unknown need for secrecy. "Wait," he says, simply. "Things may yet change."

"I hope so," Ronon grumbles. "McKay leaving is one matter. Sheppard's attitude is another."

"There is still hope."

He frowns deeply, sensing that the other man is hiding something. He looks again at the device on the table.

The radio lying on the table beside Zelenka's coffee mug suddenly bursts into life, a tinny voice heard over the small speaker. Frowning, the scientist picks up the communication device and places it to his ear.

Something prickles across Ronon's back.

"Yes." Zelenka's voice is sharp and terse. "It is doing what? You have… yes, yes, I will be right there." He lowers his hand and looks at Ronon, suddenly worried. "The Stargate is behaving oddly."

Ronon gets off the stool, glad of the reprieve, his legs uncomfortable. "Oddly how?"

"I do not know. Strange power fluctuations…" The scientist grabs his jacket, heading for the door with speed. Ronon follows. "It is probably nothing, but…"

"It's never nothing," he sums up, grimly.


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Notes: Apologies for the delay in posting. This should have been up yesterday, but was having some technical difficulties. I'm not going to complain, though - this site must be monstrous in terms of cost and maintenence, and yet I don't have to pay a penny. So, better later than never...

* * *

__McKay_

"I'll have my own office?"

"Of course."

"And a secretary?"

"The department has a secretary. Miss Campbell. Her name and contact details are included in the pack sent to you."

"What about grad students?"

"After the application process there is an interview panel. You would have the final word."

He nods. The image over the webcam is grainy but the speaker is clear. Professor Schreibmann is a thin, middle aged man with a shock of unnaturally black hair. A cigarette dangles from one hand; he hasn't stopped smoking since their conversation started. He is terse, his answers to the point, a promptness McKay appreciates.

"When would you need me?"

"A week before term starts. You can use lesson plans drawn up by your predecessor, if you wish."

"Could you send them to me?"

The professor nods, his free hand scribbling on a notepad. "If you need anything further in the meantime…"

"I have your number."

The other man nods, and smiles. "I'll see you in three months, Doctor McKay."

The webcam switches off, a blank screen in its place. McKay pushes himself out of the armchair and heads to the kitchen.

Coffee, he thinks. And something to eat.

The university is well funded, its science department world renowned. McKay wasn't surprised at the offer of a position there, although he has enjoyed negotiating for benefits. Control over the department's budget, free reign over topics discussed, a seat on the board. A pension, and a bonus for having to relocate.

Health insurance was a trickier topic. McKay's injury makes him more liable to arthritis and other long-term conditions that medical companies are reluctant to commit to.

And filling in something as simple as a hospital questionnaire becomes difficult when part of his life is classified.

After snapping at Maggie, McKay had apologised. Draw me up some guidelines, Maggie had said. Topics not to talk about. His job had been one, the cause of his injury another.

Confidential information, she half-joked, not realising how close she came to the truth.

His leg is improving, but already McKay can sense the finishing line. He can manage greater distances, but stairs are still close to impossible. He has to take them slowly, getting both feet on a step before he can move up. More than a few steps and he feels hideously self-conscious, like a doddery old man struggling to accomplish something so simple.

It almost makes him wish for the days he was running for his life across an alien planet.

Almost.

* * *

His life now revolves around physiotherapy, trips to the park, Brian's evening visits, and the occasional indulgent spend in Starbucks. He makes a little money by acting as consultant for an examining board, and takes a great deal of satisfaction in lying on the couch, shouting at Spot about how all high school graduates are idiots, and the country is going to go to hell.

He watches a lot of television.

McKay has now seen: Spiderman 2, X-Men 2 and 3, I Robot, all three new Star Wars (and wishes he hadn't), every episode of the new Battlestar Galactica and more Simpsons than he cares to recount.

He is a regular in Blockbuster. The overweight, pony-tailed till assistant greets him jovially with: "Doc!", and makes him wish he hadn't insisted on having his full title printed on his membership card.

Tonight he emerges with Enterprise season 2, the Fantastic Four, and two tubs of ice cream.

"Look," he says to Brian, returning to his apartment to find the boy lounging against his door. "You might as well come in and watch this." As though he hadn't picked up the ice cream deliberately. Rocky Road and Cherry Garcia.

Brian looks at him like McKay is a newly opened Christmas present, better than a new bike and a puppy rolled into one. "Sure?"

McKay rolls his eyes, thrusting the bag at Brian to carry. "Come on. Don't get chocolate on the couch."

Few words are exchanged during the movie. McKay has to stop himself from whistling appreciatively at the sight of Jessica Alba in her bra. Brian sits on a separate armchair, Spot curled up on the arm beside him, and watches the television screen with hungry intensity.

The movie isn't very good, but is entertaining enough, a popcorn film, and McKay finds he's actually enjoying himself. When the titles roll he moves reluctantly, shifting the empty ice cream tub to the table and switching off the television.

Dusk has turned to night, and with its only source of illumination now gone, the room is in near darkness.

Brian looks up at the windows, the blinds still up. "It's late," he says, sounding surprised.

McKay winces. "Look, ah… If your mother is going to be worried, I could speak to her." Not that he has any idea of what to say. '_Yes, I'm with Brian - your son with the mental capacity of a twelve year old - he's with me, a man approaching middle aged with a shady past. I hope that's not a problem?'_

"I've got my own keys. She doesn't mind." Again Brian looks up to the windows.

McKay follows his gaze. It is a clear night, and the traffic outside has died down, the streets empty. The sky is black, and dotted with stars.

Not the same as Antarctica, clear of light pollution; or as impressive as Atlantis, with an entire new galaxy spread out above the city. But still beautiful in a way, and clearly entrancing McKay's companion.

"It's not the same in films," Brian says, matter-of-factly. "Like in the Fantastic Four. It's all computers. Or they put lights in a piece of black cloth. You can tell the difference."

"And they're always the same size," McKay adds. "Because distances are the same in space, of course."

Brian smiles. McKay has never seen him laugh, not out loud, but he does grin; great, wide and bright.

Rodney gives the boy a sideways glance. Only three months until he has to move to his new job, but three months can seem like an eternity. He has never been one for company, quite content to be self-sufficient, but Atlantis has changed him. He may have often avoided social situations, but at least there he always knew he had the _opportunity_ - whether it was sharing a drink with Zelenka and Carson or watching cheap science fiction movies with Sheppard.

He says, quite spontaneously: "Is the park still open?"

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Maggie says, the next day. "You took this boy you barely know, on your own, to the park at eleven o'clock at night. Be thankful the cops didn't catch you, because I'd love to see you explain yourself."

"Oh _yes_," McKay says sarcastically, "because that's the conclusion to automatically leap to." He stands upright, bare-footed, while Maggie adjusts the settings of an adapted step machine. "We were looking at the stars. Astronomy."

"Never interested me."

"It should," he says, pointedly.

"Not in my line of work."

He scowls, and changes the subject. "He's actually quite bright. I mean, not exactly all _there_…"

"How PC," she comments, dryly.

"But he knew all their names, their positions. I only had that much knowledge when I was eight or nine."

She raises an eyebrow.

"I was an intelligent child." He points to himself. "Genius, remember?"

"Right," Maggie says, clearly unconvinced. "At least you've made a friend."

"And that's surprising?"

"Maybe," she teases, then points at the machine. "Twenty. And no complaining."

He clambers onto the machine obediently.

The truth is McKay _is_ surprised. His plans for his new life on Earth amount to four lines scribbled on a scrap of paper; but in all his thoughts, he hasn't considered friendship. Too caught up in what he has lost, what is behind him and out of reach.

"I'm going back to work," he says, conversationally.

Maggie hums thoughtfully, watching the way his legs strain against the steps. "Lower your heel," she advises. "You're trying to compensate again."

He scowls, but does as she says. "At a university."

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

McKay hesitates before answering. A lab, students, research papers, the independence to do what he likes, and a constructive environment in which to do it… "Yes," he says, surprised at his answer.

"I'm guessing the college isn't here."

"No."

She pats him on the back briefly. "Not that I want to undermine our local educational institutions, but I can't see you being content there. This town isn't known for being Ivy League."

"Well…" He puffs out his chest. "My talents would be wasted anywhere else. It's world renowned."

"So I expect to see your name on the copyright of a time machine?" she jokes.

"Maybe."

Maggie laughs. "I'll wait for it." She kneels, gripping his right ankle as he pushes against the step machine. "Well, I'll miss you, McKay."

"Really?" he says, perking up.

"Sure. Arrogant, know-it-all, stubborn, whiny, annoying…"

"Hey!"

She slaps him, lightly, across the back of his calf. "Those are your good qualities."

* * *

Had someone asked McKay to draw up a list of things least likely to happen to him on his return to Earth, being asked out on a date would be close to the bottom. Right above, 'sex-change operation' and below 'run for presidency.'

The woman is in her mid-thirties, and Chinese - prompting him to question whether only Asian women find him attractive, and maybe it's his hair, or something in the way he stands. Her English name is Suzanne, and they literally bump into each other outside Starbucks.

McKay is not Colonel Sheppard, and this is no Shakespeare. Suzanne is averagely attractive, and not his usual type, and McKay says yes more from embarrassment than anything else.

A stumbled apology and: "Oh, I've seen you coming in here a few times." Then, "you live around the block from my apartment building," and, "maybe we could meet for a drink?"

And he agrees, which leads him here, sat in a small booth in an ill-lit, overpriced bar where the cost of the fashionable furniture is extracted through drinks sales.

Suzanne is intelligent, and pleasant company. It is becoming apparent that they share little in common, but McKay is still revelling in the idea that _he's on a date_, and no, the woman isn't a secretly non-ascended Ancient, or a religious nut job, or the daughter of a dying king…

And he's enjoying himself.

She works in a local bookshop, and has seen him sat in Starbucks several times when she went to fetch coffee. She explains her life story: how she trained in stocks and shares, was a high flyer in a powerful company, working sixty or seventy hours a week. McKay can imagine her power dressing, black suit and heels. Then, she says, she turned thirty two and woke up one morning unwilling to get out of bed.

"I just wondered, what was the point?"

"Money?" he suggests, not sure that the question wasn't rhetorical.

"Oh, sure. My clients loved me, because I made them a profit. And the company were paying me a fortune. And I'm not criticising that - it's the life I _chose_ - but nothing was ever going to change. That was going to be it, for the next thirty years, or until I dropped dead of a heart attack." She takes a sip of her drink and smiles, brightly. "So I quit."

"Just like that?" he asks, surprised.

"Well, I had to work my notice period, train my successor up, assure the clients that they would be in good hands, but then… yeah." She shrugs. She has a good figure, beneath a white blouse and jeans. "I'd made enough money to not have to worry, as long as I downsized a little. Working at the bookstore pays the rent - and I enjoy it."

This he raises both eyebrows at. "Leaving such a powerful job to sit at a till doing work they give to dropout teenagers?" He thinks, you're better than that.

Suzanne is apparently not offended, laughing. "Okay, so the job doesn't use what my parents like to dub 'my true potential.' But now I have time to think. To do the things I've always wanted to do and I've never had time for."

McKay thinks about sitting in the park for two hours, people watching and enjoying the sun, just because he could.

"In the past eighteen months I've taken night classes in French and Italian. I'm a regular at the ballroom dancing class they hold above St Mary's once a week. I'm learning how to cook - not just micro-waved fast food. I've been camping." She smiles. "Believe me, I am _not_ the type likely to go camping."

"And that's enough?" he asks.

"I'm not saying everything I've said yes to has been enjoyable. I went to a football game on a date, and I've decided I'm really not a sports fan. I paid for a bungee jump but had to get a refund when I was too afraid to put the harness on. But even if I haven't liked something - at least I _know_ I don't like it. This way is so much more fulfilling, for me, on a personal level than anything I was doing in my old job." She stops, flushing slightly. "God, I'm sorry. I've just been talking about myself non-stop, you must be so bored."

"No," he says, and for once it isn't the automatic response - he is genuinely interested, intrigued as to how someone so bright can give up the chance of being the best, and still be happy.

"Tell me what you do for a living."

Internally he winces, and opts for a half-lie. "I'm a college lecturer. Physics. I hurt my leg in a car crash and I've taken some months off to recuperate."

She nods, and to his relief doesn't ask about the accident. "So what are your students like?"

"Oh, fine. Smart enough, but no common sense. There's one troublemaker, a Czech, thinks he knows better than me…"

Later, when he's back home in his apartment, Rodney thinks about what his life on Earth has been like since his return. Whether he is fulfilled.

It has been so long since McKay was anything but a scientist, he finds he's forgotten what it feels like to want anything else.

He hasn't thought about partnership, children, a _future_. Too caught up in the daily survival, in not getting killed by any manner of things - and science, _yes._ New discoveries, proving theories dismissed by his peers, breaking boundaries. And he could achieve all that on Atlantis - but suddenly McKay is no longer thinking about all he will miss from Pegasus, but all the things life there prevented him from doing. Just the ability to relax, to take time for himself. Not to have the weight of the world on his shoulders (without exaggeration), no lives in the balance.

He leaves Suzanne with a kiss - clumsy and quick, stood in the entrance to the bar - and promises to call her. It is understood implicitly that he won't.

When he gets back to the apartment he picks up the pad of paper and a pen, and starts to write.

_1. Learn how to cook._

_2. Buy a house near a lake, for vacations._

_3. Visit Europe._

He makes a note under number three to say that making appearances at science conferences does not count - since he has done that already - but he has to go as a tourist. He has never seen the Eiffel Tower. Or the Vatican. Or the Jagiellonian University in Krakow where Copernicus studied.

_4. Learn Czech._

Only to annoy Radek. McKay tries to imagine his friend's face when receiving a report, criticised and commented on in his own language.

_5. Ice-skating._

McKay has forgotten the last time he went skating. As a child he frequently went down to the local lake with Jeannie and spent hours on the ice, away from their parent's arguments. It provided solace and freedom he never found at home. Skating was one of the few arenas in which he was ever able to display any grace.

_6._ _Date._

He hesitates before number six, scribbling it out and then re-writing it several times before deciding that the addition stays. He has, after all, just _been_ on a date. Which wasn't that fruitful, but didn't go badly, either.

McKay feeds Spot, watches an episode of _Enterprise_, then goes to bed, feeling content for the first time in a long while.

He thinks about buying a piano.

* * *

McKay does not expect to hear from the SGC again.

It has been weeks since the Daedalus last dropped off its care package. Months since McKay was deposited back on Earth; longer still since the accident.

He still thinks about Atlantis. Still dreams about her silver spires at night. But more frequently, his dreams are about other topics. About indulging his crush on Maggie, and whisking her off her feet for an exotic cruise and romantic holiday. About his new job, and winning accolades from his peers. Inventing that time machine.

He is thinking about life, about his future, about potential.

Of course, this is when the SGC contact him.

He sits in Starbucks when the black car pulls up onto the sidewalk, ignoring the 'no parking' sign. He is on his fourth cappuccino, and his second muffin, and doesn't look up when clipped heels walk towards him.

Carter drops into the seat opposite him. She is wearing civilian clothes; comfortable looking jeans and a tight blue sweater that in a past life might have made McKay's heart beat a little faster.

"What are you doing here?"

He looks up from the research paper resting on his lap, and gives her his best, scathing look. "Isn't that my line, Colonel?"

She purses her lips, forehead creasing into a frown. "I meant _here_, McKay. You live across the street but you look like you've been here for a while. Has your coffee pot broken?"

He keeps his expression perfectly controlled. "The lift. My apartment is up three flights of stairs. But they say it should be fixed soon."

To his bitter satisfaction, he sees Sam's expression flicker, sees guilt and regret in her eyes. Immediately McKay hates himself for the comment, and says, apologetically: "Actually, yes, the lift is broken, but I come here a lot anyway. The cakes are good." He pushes the muffin over to her side of the table as a half-eaten peace offering.

Sam presses her lips together, and rolls her eyes. "You don't change."

"Some might say that. Is this another job offer? You've heard about my new position as university lecturer and want my brains back…"

"No," she interrupts, and her tone is serious, enough to make McKay sober. "It's not a job offer, Rodney. I need to speak to you."

"Here?"

"Outside."

A chill runs across his back, leg suddenly aching. "Something's wrong," he says, softly, willing her not to answer.

Sam says nothing, but she is already getting up. McKay makes a show of finishing his coffee, taking two large gulps, but leaves the rest of the muffin. He follows her outside, where rain is starting to fall, spattering the ground with thick blotches.

The sky is grey. He lifts his head and looks at it for a long moment, then ducks and gets into the car.

They sit in the back seat, Carter on the right. The seats are plush leather, and the driver wears a suit and has a radio coiled into his ear.

Rodney lays his stick across his legs, then turns to look at her. "What's gone wrong?"

She gazes at him intently, seeming to be looking for something, as she says: "Atlantis."

He swallows, can't help himself. Just hearing the name makes his fingers tingle and his gut clench, the feelings of sorrow and loss as fresh as though it were the first day he stepped off the Daedalus.

If Carter is here, then it's bad. He knows this, but hides his fear in petulance. "Zelenka is there. He's not stupid."

She nods. "He's almost as good as you were, Rodney. Possibly just as good. In the last three months he's been responsible for saving Atlantis or one of her teams on six separate occasions. But this time is different."

"How?"

"Because the problem is here on Earth."

He blinks, and says nothing as she explains.

"Atlantis was recently infected with a sentient computer virus, which attacked the systems and damaged large sections of files."

He nods. He hasn't dug into the SGC database for more than a month now, and the information is new to him.

"They were able to successfully rid the network of the virus but what they didn't realise until now is that in doing so they triggered an Ancient security protocol. For the past thirty six hours Atlantis has been trying to contact the outpost on Earth, we believe in an attempt to data dump its core files in a safe location." She takes a breath. Inside the car the windows are starting to steam up, and the driver flips the air conditioning on.

"Dr Zelenka has managed to find a way to switch off power to the Stargate in Atlantis, to prevent it continually redialling Earth every thirty eight minutes and thus draining the power of the ZPM."

"There's more," he prompts, impatiently.

She nods, wearily, and he realises that for the past day and a half she has not rested, not slept. "You are probably aware that the Stargate under Cheyenne Mountain is actually the 'gate from Antarctica, brought in after the original 'gate was destroyed. What we were not aware of until now is that each Stargate has its own energy signature, like an IP address, that matches the DHD. The systems on Atlantis have picked up that the signature of the Cheyenne Stargate does not match the DHD and have decided that this means Earth has been compromised. In the brief connection formed between Atlantis and Earth before Doctor Zelenka was able to shut it down, Atlantis triggered a self-destruct - both here and in the city."

He sighs, leaning his head back against the chair rest. "And the only thing which will stop the self-destruct is if Atlantis thinks the signatures match. You've tried taking the Stargate back to Antarctica?"

She nods. "When we removed the 'gate the first time the signature on the DHD there seems to have reset itself."

"Another security measure?" He groans. "Why the hell did the Ancients insist on using so many damn protocols that are likely to kill everyone?"

"We don't think the Atlantean protocol was meant to be used. It was redundant. Doctor Zelenka says the only reason it initialised was because of the virus."

"How long do they have?"

"Fifty six hours, at our best estimate."

He is silent for a moment, mulling over options in his head. "And you need me, why?"

Sam frowns. "I didn't think you were that callous, McKay."

"Oh, I'll help. I hardly have a choice, do I?" Rodney looks down at his knees, at the ebony cane lying atop his thighs. "But you're the expert on the Earth 'gate. And Zelenka is now the official expert on Atlantis."

"Our contact with Atlantis is limited," she explains. "Every time the Stargate on Atlantis is initialised it attempts to switch to the redial mode, and each time switching off the power becomes more difficult. To reduce the risk contact has been limited to one short data burst every six hours."

"Six hours?" he squeaks. "Oh, incredibly helpful! Six hours I'll waste trying to save their sorry asses while Atlantis develops rigor mortis?"

"Well," Carter says, helpfully, "no. Because if we can't stop this from happening then Antarctica will be destroyed too."

He stares at her, overcome by a feeling of dread. "So you're taking me to Antarctica?"

"To reset the DHD, yes." She smiles, grimly. "Don't take this as flattery, McKay, but you're the only expert on gate technology in the Milky Way and Pegasus. And…"

"I'm in the right place at the right time?" he finishes, glumly.

She pats him on the arm, reassuringly, then leans over to the driver. The car engine starts, a low growl, and the vehicle pulls away from the sidewalk.

McKay looks out the window longingly at Starbucks. He can still see his abandoned muffin, sat lonely on the table top.

The car turns the corner at his apartment block. Rodney is suddenly afraid - afraid of what he is going back to, of what he could lose. Of the risk he is about to take.

But it's _Atlantis_.

And he doesn't have a choice.


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Notes: Don't worry, Spot's fine. I'm not. I've got a stinking cold and I'm trailing snotty tissues around the house, to the displeasure of my housemates. Bleugh..._

_Fortunately reviews are a good medicine. Thanks to all you guys who have reviewed so far, you're all fantastic! SGA is the nicest fandom.

* * *

__McKay_

The journey to Antarctica is long and painful. Noise from the helicopter engine makes conversation near impossible, so McKay turns his attention to the laptop on which Carter has provided all known information on the protocol error.

As far as he can tell, the Ancients never intended for the code to be used. It was a plan Z, designed for if plans A to Y failed, and the Wraith were ready to declare victory over Pegasus. To stop their enemy from claiming Atlantis' strength as their own the Ancients had decided to self-destruct, but not before sending the core computer files to Earth. McKay assumed the Ancients believed the information would prove useful to their relations in the Milky Way, when the Wraith turned up. When Atlantis failed to recognise the Earth gate it assumed their Ancient brethren were already overcome by an enemy force, and sent the instruction to both bases to destroy themselves.

McKay has quickly judged the plan as stupendously stupid, and it seemed the Ancients had agreed, attempting to delete the programme from the computer. There were too many variables - what if the code had been changed by the Ancients on earth, what if the enemy had figured out the system, what if there was an error in transmission? Any hundred mistakes that shouldn't have happened. But a hidden file, a temporary back up made by Atlantis as part of its regular auto-save function, had remained. And now it had been triggered.

McKay rubs a hand over his eyes, already feeling exhausted. They have been travelling for hours, long enough for jet lag to set in and for Atlantis to have dialled in to the temporary SGC set up in Antarctica. The data burst had been brief, and McKay only received the summarized version.

Most of the city had evacuated to the mainland in jumpers. The explosion would take out the city and the Stargate, but aside from a tidal wave which could be avoided, the rest of the planet would survive.

Zelenka, Sheppard, Elizabeth and a small team of scientists remained.

McKay tries not to think about them. It doesn't work.

He has tried to put Atlantis behind him. To move on with his life. He was looking forward to his future; had actually _thought_ about his future, previously an unknown topic.

This is too hard, Rodney thinks, gripping his left knee tightly. To be ripped from normalcy and thrust into a world of panic and imminent death. To be sent thousands of miles, cross-continent, to an entirely different environment. And when it is all over - assuming they can undo the mistake that has been made, assuming they can save Atlantis and Antarctica and survive to tell the tale - what does he do then? Go back to his life? To his apartment, and Maggie and Brian and Suzanne and walks in the park, and a professorship at a university?

Can he do that, knowing he might be pulled back into the fray when the SGC are desperate?

"We're here," Carter comments.

He looks out the window. Below the 'copter stretches a blindingly white landscape, unchanging from horizon to horizon except for a small settlement of several concrete bunkers. The military cover story calls it an environmental monitoring station, but McKay knows the central bunker hides the lift to the Antarctic base.

"It's bigger than the last time I was here," he says.

"The SGC has been exploring the site." She pulls a face. "Unfortunately, with the threat of the Ori, most of the resources have been pulled from the project and the work has come to a standstill."

"Of course," he says, sarcastically. "So now there's an actual problem the solution is probably still buried under a hundred feet of ice."

She grins. "Just to make it easy for you, McKay."

It is easier, he thinks, that this is Carter. Rodney isn't sure how he would cope if he was in contact with Zelenka, working with him again on how to save the day. With Sam here he can distance himself, concentrate on the problem as though it is a crossword puzzle, something he can work on without emotion or involvement.

Or at least, he can pretend he can do this.

He realises he misses his cat, wondering if Mrs Thirsk is taking good care of him.

The helicopter starts to descend. McKay pulls on gloves, and tugs his scarf up over his face. The clothes were provided by the SGC, and included a walking pole with a sharp metal tip. He had reluctantly accepted it, leaving his less practical cane behind.

The minute his feet touch the ground he's glad he made the swap. The top layer is soft and feathery, but beneath it the ice is hard packed, and walking to the base is difficult and long-winded. Carter walks a few paces ahead of him, slow enough so he can keep up.

Inside the elevator the air is warmer, and he pulls the scarf away from his face. Sam plucks off her woollen hat and packs it into her rucksack.

Bill Lee meets them at the bottom. He is bundled up in a bright green coat and he wrings his hands frantically. "Oh, good. You're here. Your journey was, ah…"

"It was fine, we're good, small talk over." McKay brushes past him and heads into the base. The area is crowded with scientists and soldiers, as many as when he was last here. The place is a hive of activity, the room full of equipment and unopened boxes.

In many ways the place is exactly as he remembers it, but he has never afforded much time for sentimentality.

He takes the lead, Lee and Carter following, taking a right hand corridor towards the gateroom. The ceiling is much higher than last time, space carved out of the ice to allow for the removal - and return - of the Stargate. The device towers above the three scientists, completely still but not silent.

McKay frowns. "You hear that?"

There is a humming noise, low and quiet. Lee grimaces.

"That's the sound of the generators. Without a ZPM the system is trying to draw power from any source it can find. We've cut most of the links but without shutting down the supply entirely and the base with it, there's still some feeding through."

"Loop it back," he instructs. "Trick the 'gate into thinking it's drawing more power than it actually is."

"We've done that," Carter explains. "But inevitably there is some loss and the levels are unstable."

McKay sighs, moving towards the 'gate. He snaps his fingers. "I need a laptop. Schematics of the 'gate. You," he demands, pointing at a dark skinned tech. "Get me one."

Startled, the woman jumps up from her position at the DHD and bobs her head enthusiastically, running out of the room.

McKay flexes his fingers and smiles. It feels good to have minions again.

"McKay," Carter says, warningly. "Try not to terrify the other scientists, alright?"

* * *

_Carter_

"Damn it!"

Sam throws a screwdriver at the wall beside her. It bounces off harmlessly and drops to the floor with a clatter. She has been knelt beside the DHD for five hours. She can no longer feel her legs, and her muscles are so tense that it is beginning to affect her ability to fine tune the device before her - and worse, she suspects that her work may have no affect anyway.

Stood at the 'gate, Bill Lee flinches. "You're having no luck extracting the transmission system?"

"Not without risk of damaging it beyond repair." She sighs, heavily. "_If_ the answer is in here, it would be impossible to return the system to the 'gate and get it to work properly."

It was one of the other scientists who found the device. A separate bank of crystals, hidden behind the main strand within the heart of the DHD, never seen before. It had been found months ago, but dismissed as part of the system involved in dialling Pegasus; useless, since the Earth ZPM was dead.

Even accessing it requires dismantling the front bank; something Carter can do, but the task is long-winded and fiddly.

The last data burst from Atlantis had not provided them with any better news. The city had locked out its main systems, preventing a shut down of the protocol. Manual override was impossible, with access rooms inaccessible, not even opening for Colonel Sheppard's gene. In desperation Zelenka's team had tried detaching the ZPM, but it had almost led to a short out in the buffer that would have resulted in an explosion big enough to sink the city - albeit in several pieces.

Recognising her frustration and its impact, Carter pushes up from the floor and gets to her feet, rubbing her thighs with her hands in an attempt to relieve the cramp. "Can you take over? I'm going to check in with McKay."

Bill nods, handing over his work to a nearby tech.

Sam heads down the corridor towards McKay's workstation. The scientist is sat at a table, hunched over a laptop. Wires stream from the computer to the Ancient console beside him. There are three mugs filled with the remains of coffee, and half a dozen empty candy bar wrappers lying by his elbow.

"How's it going?"

He looks up, hair dishevelled and face pale. "Oh, peachy," he says, sarcastically. "Considering the Ancients were such morons as to leave a potentially lethal computer code lying around, they were very big on the security of their systems. I've managed to isolate the system used to transmit the code but there's no trace of the original instruction. Ironic, when you consider it was their inability to delete something properly in the first place that led to this problem!"

She winces at the rising anger in his voice; anger she shares and sympathises with. "Doctors Tse and Miller have identified the means of self-destruct. Once triggered, residual electricity in the Stargate will travel through the power network to systems not triggered to handle that level of energy. An explosive domino effect."

"As long as we know _how_ we're going to die."

"General Landry has ordered the base to be evacuated if the destruction is imminent."

"And Atlantis?" he snaps back.

"Doctor Weir has given orders to evacuate to the Athosian mainland if we're unable to stop the auto-destruct before the last scheduled transmission."

McKay shakes his head, bitterly. "Great. Like Zelenka will agree to that." His left hand curls into a fist; the right fumbles at a pocket in his jacket and produces a small medicine tub.

Carter doesn't divert her gaze, though the sight triggers a wave of guilt and remorse. It isn't her fault the healing device didn't work, she reminds herself; and aside from that brief, initial comment in the coffee shop McKay has not made any attack on her, any attempt to assign blame.

He pops two tablets out and swallows them with a mouthful of coffee.

"Are you alright?"

He glances at her suspiciously, pocketing the tub. "Fine. It's just the cold. Makes my leg ache."

"Maybe we should take a break."

"You called me in here," he shoots back. "If you didn't think I was capable…"

"I said _we_," she interrupts. "I'm not undermining you, McKay. But it's been over eight hours now without stopping, and we should both get something to eat."

"I've eaten."

"Something other than a Snickers." She gestures at the left corridor, toward the living quarters. "I could make it an order."

"Hah!" he snorts, but he starts to get up from his seat. "Not only am I not military, Colonel, but I'm not even a member of the Stargate mission anymore. Not that that's stopped you from calling me to clear up a problem."

"Think of yourself as a consultant," she teases.

McKay glares at her, but obediently follows her down the corridor. She can smell soup, something vegetable.

"It would help if the research group here had actually achieved something in the past two years. It looks like they've focussed all their energy on the chair weapon and the drones and completely ignored any other function of the outpost. Typical military mindset, I suppose, go for the big explode-y things first, ignore the actual useful stuff. So now only a fraction of the database here has been translated and nobody noticed the code in the 'gate or the fact that it had reset itself, and of course, you've blown the original 'gate up…"

"It's not like we had a choice," she says, mildly. They turn the corner into the area designated as a canteen; several fold out tables and a shelf at one end bearing bread, soup, and hot drinks.

"Oh, sure, blow up the Antarctic 'gate, no one is using it! It's just a spare!"

"McKay," she says, as the man's voice gets louder and higher-pitched.

"And now the only way to reset the code is to match the Stargate with the DHD - and that's never going to happen - and then figure out how to programme it in so the next time Atlantis dials in it doesn't decide we're all Wraith sympathisers and blow us to hell!"

"Rodney!" she says, loudly and sharply. The handful of people in the room are all staring at them; two scientists and three soldiers.

"Twenty six hours," he retorts, his face flushed. "Then Atlantis is gone."

Her heart sinks at the despondency in his voice, and without thinking Sam reaches out and places her hand on his arm. "We'll figure it out. That's what we do, McKay."

He shrugs her off, and moves towards the soup canister. They fetch their meal in silence; soup, coffee, and an apple. Sam takes her seat first and waits while McKay struggles with both his tray and his walking stick, making it clear through hostile body language that her help is not wanted.

He sits in the seat opposite with a sigh, picking up a spoon and mumbling something beneath his breath.

"What?"

"I said, that's not what I do anymore." Rodney shakes his head, then swallows a mouthful of soup. "Believe it or not, I was actually putting this behind me."

She raises an eyebrow, amazed at the confession. "I never asked you what you were up to these days."

"I've got a job. Teaching, a good university, well paid, nice benefits. It starts in a few months. I'm looking forward to it." He adds, deliberately, "I did have a life before the Stargate programme, you know."

"So did I." Sam pauses, then admits: "Sometimes it's easy to forget."

"For you, or for me?" he asks, perceptively. Then he ducks his head, and takes another mouthful of soup. "What is this? Leek with added leek?"

She stirs the concoction. "I think the pink bits are ham."

"Oh, lovely." He gives the soup a disgusted look, but continues to eat, even while protesting: "I don't have time for this."

"And I don't have time to pick you off the floor when you faint." She grins, though the expression feels weak. "I'd just get the others to walk over you."

Rodney doesn't look up, poking at his soup. "Twenty six hours and I'm sat here eating soup. And that bunch of idiots you've got working out there are useless. What happened to quality?"

"Our best and brightest are on Atlantis," she points out, drolly. "And the scientists here are all good at their jobs, McKay. Ripping shreds out of them won't make this any easier or go any quicker."

"It makes me feel better," he says, sulkily. "No Zelenka to yell at."

"I can see why he likes you," she says dryly, and without thinking. McKay's head shoots up and he stares at her, puzzled.

"What?"

Sam changes the subject hurriedly. "I was wondering about whether there was a way of tricking the computers here into thinking it had received the shut down signal from Atlantis. If we assume the code is only the first trigger in a shut down of the self-destruct, maybe we can bypass it completely."

"And Atlantis?" Rodney asks. "There are ways to get around the lockdown but by the time they do it will be too late." He shakes his head. "No. Either we find the original code or we figure out how to make Atlantis think the current code is the correct one. Although how we do the latter when we can't even access the transmitter is beyond me. I'm starting to think we'd be better at making random guesses."

She sighs, privately agreeing with him. "We need to look at this logically. We know the Ancients frequently programmed fail-safes into their systems. It's possible that they created one for this."

"Then why hasn't it triggered?"

"Maybe it has something to do with the virus that hit Atlantis. Or maybe it has to do with the removal of the Stargate here."

His eyes widen, as do hers, as they come to the same conclusion. "We don't need an Ancient fail-safe. We could…"

"Write our own?" he suggests, getting up from the table, soup forgotten. "Convince the computer that this is a glitch in the system and it needs to shut down?"

Sam pushes back her chair and follows him out of the room. "It would prevent the auto-destruct. We'd still need to access the transmitter to programme it with the new information…"

"But we shouldn't need to take it out of the DHD to do so. Not if we feed the information through the existing system."

She smiles, her pace picking up and noticing McKay do the same.

* * *

Nineteen hours.

Sam doesn't mean to keep looking at her watch. The knowledge that there is a deadline does nothing to help her work, but only serves to make her nervous, more edgy.

She has not thrown anything in the five hours it has taken McKay to write a fail-safe programme that the system should believe. The last two have been spent working together, McKay sat at the laptop while Sam works at the physical end of the link, connecting the Earth device up with the Ancient technology. The interface is limited, and has failed twice already. Bill suspects it involves the differing power modulations, and has installed a buffer between the two to avoid a repeat occurrence.

Sam has forgotten what it was like to work with McKay. The man is driven by one goal, and he forgets everything surplus to that task, including restraint. He talks, non-stop, hands gesturing when words fail him.

She forgets how much she _enjoys_ working with him; bouncing ideas off each other, coming at a problem from different angles only to meet in the middle. McKay seems to appreciate her participation, although he covers this up with sarcasm and a sharp tone.

She was surprised at his earlier explanation. She cannot imagine McKay being happy with an academic life, but he did not speak of his new job with disappointment or resentment.

If this wasn't _McKay_, she might swear the man was happy with himself.

But not here. Not under this pressure, fighting to save something he has had to leave behind.

Carter thinks back to the day McKay had arrived back on Earth, beamed down by the Daedalus. He had looked _ill_ - not just from the effects of his wound, but from something greater, more powerful and less easy to fix. There had been hope, albeit hidden beneath self-pity and despair, a feeling he had clearly been trying to deny himself with limited success. But it had been false, and this…

This _new_ McKay…

She had assumed he wouldn't have been able to adjust to life back on Earth, but now Sam is starting to realise she was wrong. And worse, she wonders if her predictions for McKay's future had been the result of her own inability to live a life outside the SGC.

"How long until Atlantis dials in?"

Bill answers for her. "Eight minutes."

"I'm ready to try downloading the fail-safe programme."

Sam adjusts one of the connections a final time, then gets up, moving towards McKay. She glances at the Stargate behind her, but it is silent, save for the ever present hum of energy.

How long has it been since she and Colonel O'Neill were trapped here, alone and injured? Seven years, eight? And yet she can still taste that same desperation, remember that same feeling of complete hopelessness. Still remembering curling up to Jack's broken body, believing they both would die there.

"I've checked and re-checked the code," McKay says, interrupting her thoughts. The fail-safe instruction was a joint creation, with McKay taking the lead on finalising the details and running it through several successful simulations.

It is simple, but the best plans usually are. Doctor Tse said of the plan that they were being honest - explaining to the systems of Antarctica and Atlantis that the original protocol was a mistake, and rather than finding ways to deflect its effect the fail-safe would instruct the two computers to do that themselves.

"The connections are made," she says, checking them on her own laptop. She sends a low charge electrical signal which travels without disruption down the line.

"Right on time." McKay looks up from the screen. "Once the Atlantis systems realise a mistake has been made it should unlock the access rooms and control systems so Radek can delete the protocol. It would be easier if we could warn him what we were about to do, of course…"

"Not possible," she says. "Atlantis has to avoid the redial function from kicking in."

"Hmm. I suppose we'll know if they dial up a second time." McKay taps at his keyboard. "Zelenka owes me for this."

The Stargate begins to dial, chevrons locking into place. The action makes the soldiers nervous, and Carter can't help but share the feeling. Antarctica has no iris, and although she's not aware of any alien worlds knowing the second Earth address, the possibility it being someone other than Atlantis dialling in is enough to put her on edge.

There are six marines in the room, each holding a gun pointing at the Stargate.

The third chevron locks.

"Fail-safe programme downloaded successfully," McKay reports.

She looks down at her own laptop and readings. "Communication protocol initialising."

The wormhole bursts into existence, brilliant and beautiful.

"Fail-safe transmitting…"

Then the event horizon winks out of existence, the entire process taking a little more than a second. The gate grinds slowly, then stills.

Slowly, Sam turns towards Bill Lee, positioned at a third laptop on an Ancient computer console. She is aware of McKay doing the same, but he is less patient.

"Well?"

Bill looks crestfallen. "Nothing yet."

"Give it a moment," she says, clinging to optimism. "It make take a few seconds for the Ancient system to recognise the instruction." She and McKay had written it with as little detail as possible, to involve misinterpretation, but there is still the possibility that their computer script contained a language error.

The room is completely silent, except for the ever present hum.

Bill releases a sigh, heavy and frustrated. "No. Nothing's happening. It's like the system just ignored it."

"Damn it!"

She turns. McKay has swept one hand angrily to one side, knocking a coffee cup to the floor. It has smashed into three, uneven pieces.

"Eighteen hours, fifty eight minutes," Doctor Miller says.

McKay drops his head into his hands. Sam sinks back into her seat, and presses her fists against her eyes.

* * *

_TBC... (well it can't be that simple, right?!)_


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's Notes: Thanks again for all the reviews, you're all fantastic. Especially those of you who have stuck with me through the technobabble!

* * *

__Radek_

The control room is in chaos.

Zelenka tries to maintain calm, but panic has overcome the team and now he can only supervise the rush. The adrenaline causes ideas to come quick and fast, but as soon as they make one move Atlantis blocks their attempt.

He has never been good at chess.

Doctors Ashcroft and Ross are working on a way of overriding the lockdown on the access rooms, in the hope that they can uncouple the self-destruct manually. The thick-set Benedetto stands ready with a blow torch and cutting devices, running through instructions with three others on gaining entry via other, more violent means.

Sheppard offered them C-4, to which Radek had spluttered: "Do you want to blow us all up _now_, Colonel?!" then stopped, flushing scarlet as he realised he had turned into McKay.

Sheppard now stands with Doctor Weir outside her office, away from the chaos. More than once Radek has urged them both to leave, since their presence is superfluous. But Sheppard pointed out that someone needs to fly the jumper in case of evacuation, and Elizabeth simply said that she would be the last to leave, and that was that.

Fourteen hours, Zelenka thinks, looking at his watch.

It helps a little to know they can escape from this. That they can give up, head to the jumpers and watch from a safe distance as the city sinks. The Athosians will provide homes to them until the Daedalus arrives to take them home.

But it only helps a little, and if Radek thought Sheppard would allow it, he would gladly battle for Atlantis until her windows cracked and he was drowned beneath the ocean.

"Any luck?" Sheppard asks, appearing by Radek's elbow. To the casual eye he appears relaxed, but the skin around his eyes is tight and his right hand is curled into a fist.

Elizabeth stands behind him, her arms folded across her chest.

Radek shakes his head. "No. I am currently searching the database for any reference to an override switch."

"You think there is one?" Elizabeth asks.

"If I was to build this system, then I would put one in. The Ancients?" He shrugs, helplessly. "Perhaps."

"Could you write one?"

"No. It must be built in from scratch, within the system's core as the rest of the database is formed around it."

"What about them?" Sheppard asks, nodding at Doctors Ogunlade and Sherman. The two men huddle over a single laptop, deep in conversation and seemingly oblivious to the work around them.

Radek winces, and looks away. "Plan B."

"Plan B?"

"A virus."

Sheppard frowns. "Isn't that what got us in this mess?"

"Yes. But viruses can be useful, when it comes to deletion."

Weir is quicker than Sheppard, a look of pain crossing her face. "Delete the Ancient database, including the protocol?"

"Perhaps." It is not the plan Radek wants, but at least the city will be whole, even if its mind and soul will have been stripped.

"Can you do that?"

"It will take time."

"How long?"

He looks at his watch again, and admits: "A little less time than what we have left."

"Will it save the city?" Sheppard demands.

Zelenka cannot meet their eyes. "Perhaps." He buries his attention in the computer console before him. Energy levels are rising, he thinks, and he must check the blocker he has put on the re-dial function before they risk using the Stargate again.

"Radek," Elizabeth says, softly.

"It may delete the protocol. It may not. Even if it does, it may not have any affect." He grimaces. "Perhaps, fifteen percent?"

"Of it not working?"

"No, Colonel."

The other man shakes his head quickly. "Then give it up, 'doc. You release that thing and it takes down the locks between here and the jumper, we'll end up going down with the ship."

Privately Radek agrees, but he is not ready to order the idea to be abandoned. Ogunlade is the best programmer he has ever known, largely responsible for preventing the first virus from wiping out the system. Radek still hopes that irony will win out, that the Nigerian will be able to use the same skills to delete the protocol and stop the self-destruct.

If not, then he is running out of ideas, and he still has no idea if Earth is receiving their data bursts. He wonders if the SGC are working on a way to help, if salvation will come at the eleventh hour and not from him.

He wishes McKay were here.

* * *

_McKay_

McKay wishes Zelenka were here.

With the exception of Sam there is no one here with a spark or enthusiasm he can relate to. Bill Lee is a competent scientist - they are _all _competent scientists, but what Rodney wants right now is flair, is the ability to produce ideas from pure imagination and instinct.

Carter has that flair - and would look a lot better in a little red bikini than Zelenka would - and McKay works well with her, but it is not the same. Sam does not have the knowledge of Ancient technology that Radek has. If it were a question of fixing the Stargate McKay would pick Carter every time, but this is down to computers, and he leaves Sam to continue working on the transmission device so he can pursue a different approach.

None seem to be working. In optimism he tried opening up the floor to ideas, and was surprised to receive two or three good suggestions, but they have all come to nothing.

Eight hours.

Two until Atlantis' final check in. He wishes for two-way communication, to see the city one final time before its destruction. For a chance to say goodbye.

Eight hours, he tells himself. Even if the Atlantean side of the rescue attempt has evacuated, it will still leave him with six hours. Without Zelenka's team preventing the redial function from kicking in, Atlantis will dial up Earth and open a wormhole for every thirty eight minute segment between now and destruction, offering the team in Antarctica nine more chances to find and transmit the code before both Ancient outposts blow.

It should seem like a lot. It doesn't.

The leek and ham soup he had earlier turns over in his stomach. McKay feels nauseous. His leg aches, and the painkillers are no longer working. Part of him wants to give up, to go back to his apartment and curl up on the couch with take-away pizza and Spot.

The images on the laptop screen are starting to blur. McKay rubs his eyes.

"Alright," Sam says, still sat by the DHD. Her long legs are folded beneath her, and a range of tools are scattered around her feet. "I have access to the transmitter."

"That's good news," Lee says, enthusiastically. "Isn't it?"

"Finally," McKay grumbles. He lifts his hand and tries to massage the back of his neck.

"What about the failsafe?"

He shakes his head. "The protocol is too specific. It treated the failsafe like it has everything else - it assumes it is part of the enemy's attempt to stop the auto-destruct. Which it is. It's the most paranoid piece of computer code I've ever seen."

"So we need the original?" Lee asks, timidly.

"Oh!" McKay smacks himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. "Why didn't _I_ think of that?! Oh, that's right - _we don't have the original!"_

"McKay," Carter says, but her tone is more tired than reproachful.

"You don't have to be sarcastic," Lee says, turning back to the Stargate. Working with two others he has managed to isolate the power cables which the auto-destruct will utilise. His current task is trying to find a way of disconnecting those power cables without causing the destruct to start early.

This is imperative if McKay is to get all nine chances at saving Atlantis. If the scientists cannot find a way of preventing the destruction of the Antarctic base, the military have instructions to remove the team and the Stargate to a safe distance, even if that means leaving early.

Earth can afford to lose the base, but not their only remaining 'gate.

Sam walks across to the coffee pot one of the techs brought in a little while earlier. She pours out three mugs, handing one to Lee before taking the other two to McKay. She drops into the seat beside him and passes him one cup, wrapping her hands around the other.

"We should review what we know."

He snorts. "We only know what won't work."

"That's still something. It narrows down our options."

"Fine." He swallows a mouthful of coffee; bitter and strong and hot, exactly the way he likes it. At least in Antarctica he gets to struggle for survival while drinking decent caffeine. "We know any attempt to interfere with the protocol will trigger the auto-destruct early."

She raises a finger. "No. We don't know that for sure. We _suspect_ attempts to disconnect the cables will result in an early trigger…"

"The spike in energy levels are evidence of that," Lee says.

"We know that creating a fail-safe programme won't work, because it isn't recognised by the protocol."

"Unless we can find a way to disguise it," he suggests.

"Doctor Tse has been searching for an override switch, with no success."

"That doesn't mean there isn't one."

"No," Sam agrees, "but it's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"We might get lucky," Lee says.

McKay ignores him. "If I were Radek, I'd be considering deleting the entire database."

Carter raises her eyebrows. "That's possible?"

"In theory. It was something I considered, after the Genii invaded Atlantis. Releasing a virus into the Atlantis mainframe to destroy the database rather than allow it to fall into the hands of the Genii, or the Wraith." He isn't going to tell Carter how long this programme might take to run, or how it was one of the many projects he left unfinished when he returned to Earth.

"What about the rest of the information?" she asks, her eyes wide. "The information held on Atlantis is invaluable. The Ori…"

"Yes," he says, feeling sick, "but if Radek can't find a way to stop the auto-destruct then Atlantis will gone anyway. This way at least her physical shell will remain."

"I suppose," Lee says, subdued, "you could always reboot." He laughs, weakly.

McKay stares at him, a prickle running down his bad leg. "What?"

Bill's face pales, and he takes a nervous step back. "Sorry. Bad taste."

"A reboot?"

Sam looks at him, and he can tell from her expression that she is about to have the same idea - albeit several seconds behind him. "If a PC crashes…"

"It makes a back-up of the system so you can restore any lost information. Atlantis does exactly the same thing, but on a much bigger scale." He turns back to the laptop, closing down the plans he was studying earlier and instead opening up a different section of research. "The Ancients make regular copies of their database in case the system is damaged. But unlike a PC, it doesn't delete them every time it makes a new one."

"There should be an archive!" Sam says, grinning.

"On Atlantis." McKay lifts his head and looks up at her. "It might not be the same here."

Her expression of delight falls. "Because this is only an outpost. It would need a separate room, a separate power supply. And we haven't found anything that could house a storage system that large."

"Ah…" Bill takes a step forward, raising a hand. "Actually, there is something."

"Well?" McKay demands.

Hesitantly, the other scientist crosses the room until he stands at McKay's other shoulder. Then he leans past him to tap at the keyboard, using the mouse with his left hand to select different files.

"Doctor Miller mentioned something in his last update."

McKay turns on his seat, yelling at the open doorway: "Miller! Get in here!"

Carter rolls her eyes, but she's still grinning.

A thin, blonde-haired man steps through the doorway, his gaze jumping skittishly between McKay, Carter and Lee. "Sir?"

Turning back to the laptop, McKay sees that Lee has brought up a diagram of the Antarctic outpost. It is less detailed and taken from a greater distance than the ones McKay has been studying, covering the whole network of buildings and beyond.

In the right of the picture, to the east of the Stargate, lies a shaded patch without detail. Rodney jabs at it with a finger.

"What is that?"

Miller gulps. His Adam's apple is large and pronounced, and bobs nervously. "We're not sure, sir. It's a secondary off-shoot to the main building inaccessible by corridor, but we only started excavating a couple of months ago, and with resources so tight and with so little man power…"

"Right, right," McKay interrupts. He stares at the area, trying to quell a rising sense of hope. "Is it connected to the rest of the outpost?"

"We believe so, sir, although there's no power going there now. That's why we put the excavation on the back burner. We figured it was probably a storeroom."

He snorts.

Sam leans further forward and takes the mouse from Lee's control. "What's that white area?"

"Oh." Miller swallows again, the sound loud. "We're not sure. We've been picking up some very faint energy readings from it, but not enough to get any clear information."

"That's it," McKay says, breathless. "The energy readings must be from its generator. Maybe a second ZPM…"

"Which must be dead," Sam interrupts, "or nearly. I'll need to take one of our supplies…"

McKay lifts his head and looks at her, shocked. "_You'll_ need one?"

"Yes. One of us needs to go out there to reboot the system and search for the original code…"

"And that's going to be me!" he protests.

Sam shakes her head. "Not out here." She glances at Miller. "What did you mean when you said you had only just started excavating?"

The man flinches. "There's a tunnel," he explains, a slight stammer in his voice, "not very wide. We had started to shore up the ceiling but the last section is tight, and there's no power, so it's just ice."

"And?" McKay demands.

Carter turns. He sees her eyes dip towards his leg, then up to meet his gaze. "Rodney," she says, in a quiet voice, "be realistic. I'm in a better position to…"

"No you're not," he retorts, sharply, aware of heat rising in his face. "I'm the expert on Ancient computer systems remember, Colonel, not you. You could spend all week trapped in that hole and not find what we need."

"You can't…"

"I am!" he snaps back. "And you know that's the way this has to work!"

Sam stares at him for a moment, seeming to scrutinize him; then she seems to find whatever it is she is looking for, because her head dips and she sighs. "Alright. Take two marines with you, to dig out the hole. And make sure you keep your radio on. I'll stay here, work on the transmitter."

He nods, grimly satisfied. "You've got more experience working with the DHD than I do," he offers.

Carter raises an eyebrow. "That was almost a compliment."

"Don't let it go to your head." He slips off the stool, one hand on his walking stick. He can feel a surge of adrenaline start to pass through his body, his aches and pains forgotten in the wake of renewed hope and a clear goal. _This will work_, he thinks. "Which goons?" he asks, nodding at four soldiers stood in the doorway. "Tango or Cash?"

She grins, then reaches out suddenly to wrap her hand around his arm. "McKay."

He glances at her, not understanding the look in her eyes. "What?"

"Just…" She hesitates, then says: "Wrap up warm."

* * *

The 'excavation' turns out to be a shored up hole a little under three feet high, although McKay is assured by Miller that the tunnel only lasts for a few metres before joining the access corridor. The original entrance collapsed hundreds of years ago when the ice shifted. The front of the tunnel is full of soft snow from the last fall, and McKay has Tango and Cash dig it out while he double checks his equipment. 

'Tango' is a large, pink faced man with a close cropped ginger beard. His name is O'Connor, an Irish-American with a thick accent. He seems to wear a permanent expression of amusement, a sight which only serves to unnerve McKay. 'Cash' is named Nichols, a young man barely able to restrain his impatient or his enthusiasm at finally being allowed to do something to help. He reminds McKay of Ford, before the enzyme. Together the pair work quickly and efficiently, clearing the space and piling the snow to one side.

Rodney kneels in the snow and goes over the contents of his bag. A laptop, with full battery and a powerful wireless connection he can use to transmit back to Carter, waiting by the Stargate. A small power generator, of the type used to provide electricity to an overnight camp. Appropriate cables and tools.

It is quite possible his theory is wrong. The known schematics fit the profile of a back-up server, but could also be applied to a weapons locker, once shielded from view. Miller's scans showed a faint energy signature, but little more than what is emitted from the Ancient version of a laptop battery. A back up memory would need its own, independent energy source to protect it from overloads in the main system.

Not protection enough, however, to save it from the auto-destruct. When the central rooms blew, the explosion would engulf the back up server as well.

He knows Atlantis has a back up storage facility, to which the city regularly records core information: shields, weapons, life support. The Ancients' ability at storing knowledge is such that the copies are retained for a long period, so that if an upload was ever needed a person could choose from a wide time-frame. But McKay is only guessing that the Antarctic outpost works similarly. In many ways it represents a smaller version of Atlantis, with its computers and control chair and drones. Rodney learnt most of the basics here. But this place _is_ smaller, and perhaps…

He tries, in vain, to stop thinking of the 'what-ifs'. There are too many, and it does not help, only serving to make him more nervous, more impatient.

"Are you done?" he demands of his two goons.

O'Connor grunts, scraping at the inside of the tunnel with the side of his shovel. "Almost."

"It's pretty small, sir." Nichols frowns. McKay sees the way the man's gaze dips to the walking stick. "It won't be easy getting in."

"I'll manage," McKay says, struggling to hide the tremor in his voice. Small spaces - small, _dark_ spaces are not his favourite environment. He checks his pocket for a flashlight, then checks the bag for the spare.

"I could go first?" Nichols suggests. "Check it out?"

McKay swallows, nodding tightly and pretending he isn't as grateful as he feels. "Good idea, Lieutenant."

The younger man flashes him a reassuring grin, then drops to his knees and wriggles into the hole. It isn't _that_ small, McKay tells himself, watching the younger man crawl inside. He counts the seconds: ten, twenty, thirty.

O'Connor frowns, and taps his radio. "You still good, Lieutenant?"

The answer comes over McKay's radio, clear as a bell despite the ice. "Yes. Doctor Miller was right when he said this opens up pretty quickly. I can stand up. But the door's locked."

"Probably needs the gene," McKay says absently, checking his gear. Still counting; forty, fifty, sixty…

Sixty seconds can seem like an eternity.

Nichols emerges, his head covered in a fine layer of snow. He shakes himself as he gets up, sending flakes to the ground. "It all seems pretty secure, sir."

McKay nods. Part of him was wishing for another answer; a very tiny, very frightened part of him which does not want to go into the small, dark, confined…

_Wide open fields._

"_McKay?"_

He jumps, his thoughts derailed by Carter's voice in his ear. "Colonel?"

"_How's it going?"_

"I'm, ah, I'm about to go in." He steps past Nichols and O'Connor, and drops the bag into the hole. He figures it will be easier pushing it ahead of him than dragging it behind.

"_Seven hours twenty, McKay."_

"I know!" he snaps. As though he needs the reminder. As though he isn't hearing an internal countdown in his head, and keeps thinking of Atlantis; the silver spires, the reflection of ocean in glass, the potential captured in steel and beauty. And Zelenka, Elizabeth, Sheppard, the other scientists remaining behind to try and save her…

He drops to his knees awkwardly. His left leg immediately tries to freeze up, the cold powerful despite the protection of thick trousers. His right is slightly numb. He pushes his walking stick in front of him, reluctant to leave it outside, then crawls in after.

"One small step," he mutters.

The crawl space is not as small as he had imagined it to be, and the bright light from the snow and sun outside fills the tunnel with light. He crawls for several metres, dragging his right leg behind him, pausing every few seconds to shove the bag in front of him.

"You alright, doc'?" he hears Connor call out.

"Fine," he shouts back. His hip twitches, his thigh shaking, but he ignores it.

_Maggie would be proud of me._

The shadows are growing, and he fishes in his pocket for the torch and switches it on. The floor, ceiling and walls are made of compressed ice, cold to the touch, and he is suddenly very glad for the thick gloves on his fingers.

He gives the bag another shove, and it suddenly drops away from in front of him, falling into the dark with a 'thunk.' Wincing, and hoping the generator hasn't broken, McKay points the torch into the hole.

The access tunnel comes out into the corridor a couple of feet above the ground. McKay clambers out with difficulty, using his arms to propel himself out of the tunnel, then trying to soften his fall.

Sitting up, he casts the torch light towards the tunnel. It is a hole in a collapsed wall, behind which McKay assumes the original exit lies. The ice has fallen hard here, in big, solid clumps, and he can see metal beneath its frozen surface.

The rest of the corridor might have been taken from the basement of Atlantis. Thick cables run across the ceiling, and the walls are carved with simple lines. Using the walking stick as support, McKay pulls himself to his feet and hauls the bag over one shoulder.

The corridor stretches out for five or six metres, and at the opposite end to the collapse lies a closed door. McKay approaches it cautiously, laying his hand on its surface and thinking it open.

Nothing happens. He isn't surprised. Without any power mental commands won't work, so he opts for the alternative; a manual override. Pulling off a glove with his teeth, McKay feels around the doorframe and soon locates a metal panel in the wall, identical to those on Atlantis. He uses a screwdriver to lever it off the wall, and points the torch inside.

Four crystals are stuck inside the panel, and McKay breathes a sigh of relief at seeing them intact. He does not have time to retrieve a spare. Carefully, he extracts the top crystal and swaps it for the bottom. The crystals are cool to the touch, and covered in a fine film of ice which melts beneath his fingers.

A second later the door starts to open; jerkily, several inches at a time, then grinding to a halt. A space less than a foot wide remains.

"Great," McKay mutters to himself. Again he decides to push the bag through first, having to take out the generator and feed it through separately so everything will fit. Then he presses his back against the wall, sucks his chest in, and squeezes through.

To his immense satisfaction, McKay finds that his theory was right. The room is small, a little bigger than the bathrooms on Atlantis, but the walls are lined with computer controls, and a waist-high dais sits in the centre.

He laughs, from hysterical relief. At least, he thinks, something is going right.

"Carter?"

"_McKay."_

"I've found it." He feels slightly giddy, and blames it on the cold. "Of course."

"_Because you're always right," _she says, dryly. _"How does it look?"_

He casts the light around the room, taking in the cables, wires, and crystals visible within open panels. There is some damage, and one wall appears uneven, bending beneath the weight of the ceiling, but nothing as bad as he feared. "Mostly in one piece. I'll start connecting the generator. How long until we hear from Atlantis?"

"_Twelve minutes."_

He takes a deep breath, and sees it form mist in the air. "No pressure, then."

"_You've got six hours after that, McKay."_

"Right, right." He glances at the laptop and generator and starts to estimate in his head. Thirty minutes to hook up the generator, assuming there are no surprises. Starting up the server and searching for the code?

He has no idea.

Ignoring the protest from his right leg, McKay takes a seat on the cold floor in front of the dais, and prises off a panel from its front.

He wonders what Zelenka is doing, millions of light years away. Whether he has guessed that his predecessor is on Earth, trying to save his sorry ass.

If this works, he thinks, he will hold it over Radek's head for as long as the Czech remains in Atlantis.

If it doesn't… then he will likely be dead.

Military orders or not, McKay knows he will not leave this underground chamber until he has either found the code and stopped the auto-destruct, or until he is caught up in its wake.

Life and death decisions.

For a moment, alone in the shadows of the cold storage room, Rodney dips his head and closes his eyes.

He thought he had left this behind.

Then he takes another deep breath, the frigid air chilling his lungs, and gets to work.


	17. Chapter 17

_Author's Notes: Thanks again for all the reviews guys! You're a wonderful. Apologies for not replying to every single one of you. I will say this - Captain Untouchable, who _doesn't_ want to kiss McKay?!

* * *

__Carter_

Sam crouches over the innards of the DHD, spread out across the floor before her. She checks and rechecks the power supply to the transmitter, running her fingers along the wires as confirmation. The number of chances they have at getting this right depends on how long it takes McKay to power up the back up server and find the code. But coaxing the machine back to life after thousands of years will take time, and she does not want to think of how difficult it will be to search multiple copies of the database for a tiny piece of information.

Despite her earlier reluctance she knows McKay is right. He is the best person to have out there and their only chance of success.

Knowing that does not make her feel any better.

"Atlantis is due for its last check in," Bill says, suddenly.

Sam gets to her feet and moves to the side of the room, as before her the Stargate begins to vibrate. Transporting it from Colorado was a complicated and time-consuming process, and the task of fitting it back into the Antarctic base was done in haste. A multitude of safety measures have been ignored, including the stabilisers used by the SGC to limit the Stargate's incredible power. She can see the metal ring move as a wormhole bursts forth, rocking back several inches before settling into place.

It should worry her, but right now they have bigger problems.

She moves to the radio, built into the computer console on the right hand wall. Across the screen energy spikes, white against blue, and a second later the event horizon flashes out of existence.

Stood beside her, Lee frowns. "Shouldn't the redial function be kicking in?"

She glances at the 'gate. "If they've evacuated." Turning back to the computer, she starts to download the data sent from Pegasus. Words scroll across a monitor; a large text file, complete with attached graphics.

"Well?" Lee asks, bouncing behind her shoulder impatiently.

Sam scans the document, her heart sinking. She taps her radio. "McKay, can you hear me?"

"_Colonel? Atlantis has called in?"_

She guesses he is clock-watching, just as she is. "We've just heard from them."

"_And? You're not calling me out of this hole, so I assume we're still going for Plan B?"_

"No success, Rodney." She reads off the message. "They've been considering the use of a virus…"

"_Of course."_ His voice is terse, no-nonsense, his concentration clearly consumed with the task he is faced with. _"Weir said no?"_

"Apparently. Doctor Zelenka hasn't dismissed the idea."

"_Good for Radek."_

"They are searching the database for an override switch…"

Again he interrupts her. _"And I bet he wasted time trying to create one from scratch. It was worth a try, I suppose, but it won't have worked. And this can't be solved by a mystical red reset button. Have they got into the access rooms?"_

"Two."

"_Which is as good as none. Dammit!"_

His curse is loud and sharp, and she flinches. "McKay?"

"_Shocked myself on an exposed cable. Nearly took off my fingers!"_

She smiles, despite herself. "Suck it up, McKay."

"_You try being down here! Half the stuff is frozen, there's no room to manoeuvre, I can barely see in this light…"_

It is her turn to interrupt him, not wanting to indulge McKay in a rant. "What about damage? How much has collapsed?"

"_One wall, but from what I can tell only a single memory bank has been lost. I'm not sure about the stability in here."_ His voice quavers, just a fraction, and Sam hopes that no one else heard it but her.

"The quicker this is done, McKay," she says, "the quicker you can be back out here. How cold is it down there?"

"_Actually,"_ he says, sounding surprised, _"It's pretty cosy. I can see why Eskimos are so fond of igloos."_

"That's one positive then - you're probably warmer than we are."

"_How is the transmitter? You'd better be ready, Colonel, because I'm not doing this twice!"_

"We're ready." She glances at the Stargate. "The redial function hasn't set in yet."

"_Radek's staying."_ She hears him sigh, soft and quiet. _"Of course he is."_

"It won't last."

"_Hopefully not."_

There is a slight pause. Sam can hear the sounds of McKay working - a repetitive scratching, then the scrape of metal against metal. She can visualise his actions; loosening cables from within their housing, threading the wires of the back up memory to the generator, removing crystals from the core as needed.

She glances at Lee, but the other scientist has already moved away to another computer, and she is free to cup the radio and switch the frequency to private.

"McKay."

"_What?"_ he asks, testily.

"If this comes down to the final few minutes, promise me you'll get out."

There is a pause. Sam waits, listening to the background noise over the radio, imagining McKay crouched in the dark.

"_I have a healthy self-preservation instinct, Colonel."_

"Good." She pauses, then adds: "The city isn't worth it, Rodney. Even if the city is Atlantis."

There is another moment of silence and then she hears McKay's voice, a forced dismissive tone covering up something warmer.

"_That was almost a compliment."_

She grins, and repeats his words from earlier. "Don't let it go to your head."

* * *

_McKay_

"_Don't let it go to your head."_

McKay snorts, and flicks his radio off.

The news from Atlantis has not surprised him, because when have they ever pulled a solution out of the bag with plenty of time to spare? That would be too easy, and his work is anything but. Besides, Radek is good, but he isn't a miracle worker, and the solution for this problem lies on Earth, out of the Czech's reach.

If all other plans fail, then the original answer is the best. Had the Antarctic base still been in possession of its original Stargate and the original identification code, then neither outpost would be facing destruction.

"So it's back to Plan A," he mutters into the darkness.

He has overcome - almost - his earlier fears of the enclosed space. This is not a submerged jumper. The ice forms a natural insulator between the small space he occupies and the cold of the outside world. His own body heat has amply filled the room, and he has started to sweat beneath the many layers of clothes on his body. He has already taken off his jacket and scarf, but his t-shirt is starting to stick to his back with sweat.

Not because of _nerves_, he tells himself. Because he has done this before, been here before.

"Ask McKay. Bring him out of retirement," he rants. "Not like I had anything better to do." He pauses, and thinks for a moment. "Well, I didn't - but that's not the point."

He tests the connection between the generator and the computer core, watching the energy readings closely. Thousands of years of being buried beneath ice have not been kind to the electronics, and the power flow is uneven. If he had time McKay could hook up a buffer between the two, but he now has…

He pauses, checking his watch.

… five hours, fifty minutes before the auto-destruct. Less before he has to abandon the base.

Rodney turns to the generator, flipping the switch to start powering up the computer. It has to be a gradual process, so he can prevent overloads from an unstable system. A number of the crystals are damaged, and although he can compensate for their loss, reroute information links and energy connections, the result is finely balanced and subject to fluctuations.

Carter couldn't do it, he thinks, smugly.

Around him panels start to glow, crystals brightening. Gripping the dais, McKay pulls himself to his feet and hobbles across to a monitor set into the left wall. He watches the system start to boot up, Ancient script scrolling across the screen in flickering blue.

He leans against the wall, dropping his chin to his chest.

He is _tired_ - physically and mentally exhausted, and alone in the dark he is free to give in to the feeling, even if for only a moment. His right leg and hip burn, his back aches, and his eyesight is beginning to blur. McKay finds himself wishing for some of Carson's stimulants.

He thinks of the siege, working with Radek with such desperation that secondary needs - food, sleep, showering - were forgotten. Then after the Wraith had left, falling asleep in the lab and waking up to discover Sheppard had stuck a 'do not disturb' post-stick to his back, and having Teyla lead him back to his quarters because he couldn't remember the way.

McKay misses his team.

He hates being back here.

The machines around him start to hum, the wall vibrating finely. Sighing deeply, McKay pushes himself upright and looks at the monitor.

"Energy levels stable - ish. A little high." He frowns, blaming the anomaly on the temporary bypass he has had to fit to replace a bank of broken crystals. Another thing he hasn't time to worry about.

He fumbles at his radio. "Colonel?"

"_Rodney? How's it going?"_

He moves over to the generator, double checking the connection. "The computer is powered up. I'm about to start hooking up the laptop."

"_How long will it take you to interface the two?"_

"A while," he says, being deliberately vague. The truth is he isn't sure - it depends on the computer's condition, on the status of the data, on its storage and amount. "The laptop is one from the base so its interface is already set up, which should save me some time. I need to find the best access point in the back up memory."

"_Well, not to add any extra pressure on you, but it looks like the redial function has kicked in. The wormhole has been open for the past few minutes."_

"Any word from Atlantis?" he asks.

"_Not since the last communiqué."_

This could either be a good or a bad thing. Good, if Radek has been forced to abandon the city by Sheppard and Weir, and retreat to the safety of the mainland. Bad, if they have lost further control over the Atlantis computers and can no longer radio Earth.

"Alright," he says, releasing a soft breath. "A wormhole can only stay open for thirty eight minutes."

"_Giving us nine more chances to programme the new code into the Antarctic 'gate."_

He appreciates her use of the term 'us,' but he knows it's an exaggeration. Carter has done her part, is now only checking and rechecking the Antarctic systems while waiting for McKay to find an answer.

The future of Atlantis is on his head.

Isn't it always?

"_I'm sure you can do it with at least five to go,"_ Sam jokes.

He doesn't laugh, turning his attention to the laptop. "I've created a search programme which should narrow the results down to a specific time period. It isn't necessary to search every copy, and from the information Atlantis sent in their first data burst we know it wasn't created as part of the base code." He reaches for his bag, pulling out a bundle of wires used for interfacing Earth and Ancient technology. "I'll radio again once the link is set up. McKay out."

He drops his hand from the radio and turns back to the dais. With the extra lights from the surrounding crystals and consoles the room is a much brighter space, but it also increases his risk of electric shocks, and he has to take care when reaching into the machine's depths.

It feels strange to be doing this alone. Not to have Sheppard's voice in his ear, insisting he hurry up. _"What's taking you so long, McKay?"_ and the faith that at times seemed blind, the Colonel making promises on Rodney's behalf. _"Sure he can fix it," _and, _"You're a genius, Rodney, remember?"_

He misses Teyla's presence, warmth and security in one being. He misses Elizabeth, and their conversations over coffee and muffins at breakfast, part staff-consultancy and part debate. He misses bickering with Radek, and the odd camaraderie he has with Carson. He even - god help him - misses Ronon. The Satedan might have no sense of humour or appreciation for science or subtlety, but McKay could trust the man to protect him - even if it was with a show of reluctance.

At least, if his attempts fail and they all survive the auto-destruct, he will have chance to see them again. Maybe not Teyla or Ronon, but the others - the others will have to return to Earth. And then perhaps he can apologise in person.

He isn't _good_ at apologising, and the knowledge that protecting Atlantis from destruction will also ensure he does not have to face up to a confrontation serves as an additional reason for him to strive for success.

Something in the shadows bleeps.

McKay lifts his head. A light on a left hand console is blinking. He frowns.

"Oh, no."

* * *

Two hours and three redials later, McKay has set up an interface between the laptop and the Ancient memory banks and is busy searching through copies of the Antarctic database. 

There is a staggering amount of information stored here, although not as much as in the outpost's main computer. It is clear that the system does not make identical copies of data, but streamlines it, collating the essentials: start up instructions, energy protocols, internal protection from energy failure. There are also folders and folders full of statistics. McKay has discovered that the outpost was not just used as a defence platform, but also a research station on weather and geology, information the scientists would kill to get their hands on. An environmental history over thousands of years, until a loss of power shut the back-up system down.

He ignores it, focussing his search on the Stargate and DHD.

"_McKay?"_

He taps the radio. "Doctor Lee."

"_We're picking up some unusual energy readings coming from your location."_

McKay winces. He had been hoping that the main outpost wouldn't discover the anomaly. "I've had to take some short-cuts to power up the system. There's been some damage."

"_What kind of short-cuts, McKay?" _Carter asks. Her tone is serious, concerned.

He scowls. "The kind that get the job done."

"_I don't like the way the system is reacting to the power up. The computers are recording a number of energy spikes, each between five and twenty percent."_

"Are they feeding into the main base?"

"_Only a minimal amount, but…"_

"Then it's nothing to worry about," he says dismissively. Which is a lie, but he doesn't need Carter knowing that.

"_McKay…"_ she says, warningly.

He ignores her. Power output from the generator is only small, but the Ancient system it is now plugged into is unstable, a result of thousands of years of neglect. Given time and man-power the damage could be fixed, the instability compensated for, but McKay has neither and now he tries to block out the way the walls are vibrating slightly, the ice grinding above his head.

Besides, the risk of the system overloading is negligible. Fifteen, maybe twenty percent.

If nothing else goes wrong.

"Is the 'gate still open?" he asks, hoping to distract Sam.

"_Yes. We've had no further contact from Atlantis."_

He really, really hopes Sheppard and the others have done the sensible thing and abandoned the city. Even if it means knocking Zelenka out and hauling him into a jumper unconscious.

He isn't sure that Radek won't have his own Doranda.

If it were him on Atlantis…

But it isn't, he thinks. He left the city several months ago, tried to turn his back on it. And for a while he had convinced himself he had achieved that - as though he could hide in academia and indulge in all that he had missed in Pegasus.

He wishes it was that simple, that it wasn't a state of denial.

Or maybe he was close. Maybe moving, getting a new job, setting up a new home would have been enough. He has spent his entire life distracting himself with work - and he thought that was fulfilment. Now he isn't sure.

"_How is the hunt going?"_ Carter asks.

He studies the laptop. From the research already conducted on the Antarctic base, and from the information gleaned from Atlantis' discovery of the emergency protocol, the ID code should be linked with the primary systems. Until now McKay has no success in finding anything which might lead him to the data he needs.

"Not well," he admits, reluctantly. "I'm trawling through the main files without success. I can't find any reference to the code in the text directives." He tried those first; the instructions left by the Ancients on how to operate the main systems, a basic FAQ on trouble-shooting problems.

"_If the protocol was never intended for use it may not be in there."_

"I realise that," he snaps back, "but where else do you suggest I start? This isn't quite as bad as needles in haystacks but it comes pretty damn close!"

"_I know,"_ she replies, coolly, _"but you know the Atlantean systems better than anyone, Rodney. That's why you're down there. Maybe this requires lateral thinking."_

McKay sighs. "Fine," he says, flexing his fingers. He is tired and uncomfortable, and sits up from the laptop, rubbing his lower back with one hand and fumbling for his jacket with the other. He pulls a slightly squashed Snickers from a pocket and tears it open. "Where would you hide a potentially lethal defence protocol?"

"_Weapons?"_ she suggests.

"Shields, weapons guidance, targeting systems…" He takes a bite of the chocolate. It is warm and beginning to melt. Above him ice has started to turn to water, revealing the metal ceiling above. "Still a big haystack."

"_Maybe we're not talking about hiding something. This was a piece of defunct code, after all."_

He pauses, swallowing the chocolate in an uncomfortably large bite. "That's true," he says, snapping his fingers. "Maybe we're approaching this from the wrong angle. We're not looking for an instruction which was still in use - we're looking for something which was deleted."

"_So do the Ancients have a version of a recycle bin?"_

"Something like that," he says, growing excited, Snickers forgotten. "I'll need to check back through the copies but it narrows down the search."

"_Alright. Let me know when you're getting warmer. Carter out."_

McKay drops his hands back to the laptop keyboard, smiling smugly in the dim light. This could work, he tells himself, breath quickening. I can do this.

* * *

_Carter_

The radio switches off with a click.

Sam frowns. Their new theory is promising, but she is more concerned about the energy spikes, about the casual way McKay dismissed her concerns.

She doesn't trust him.

If this were several years ago, before Atlantis, she might. She wasn't aware of Rodney having a martyr-like streak in him - she would have trusted his selfishness, his survival instinct. This new, post-Atlantis McKay still has that instinct, but there is something else, something she has read in mission reports and found hard to believe.

Then perhaps, considering her own experiences, it isn't so hard to believe. There is something about the Stargate programme that breeds a particular brand of self-sacrifice. She has seen it in O'Neill, Daniel, Teal'c and Mitchell more times than she cares to count. And the man she confronted in Starbucks isn't the one who was ready to casually end Teal'c life without fighting for it. This is the man who risked his own life and sustained a career-ending injury to save the life of Colonel Sheppard.

Sam isn't stupid. Rodney is hiding something

She turns to Lee. "What other information do we have on those energy spikes?"

Bill shrugs. "They're coming from the secondary memory systems. It's probably a result of the hot wiring Doctor McKay has done."

She shakes her head, moving past him to a second monitor watched by Doctor Tse. "That's a guess. I want to know more."

Tse folds his arms across his chest defensively. "It's a reasoned theory with ample evidence," he argues, but he steps aside to allow Carter access. "We picked up the spikes as a result of plotting the auto-destruct's effects. Assuming we are able to save the base then we'd have time to fix the problem but for the moment it's of low significance."

He is twitchy, nervous - all the scientists are. With the exception of herself and Lee, none of them have been asked to work under these circumstances before, facing a countdown with their lives at stake. They are second choices - brilliant minds without the personality to face anything more perilous than life at Area 51. Valuable to the Stargate programme but not to the environment of an off-world team, best suited to remaining on Earth. Whispers of evacuation are growing louder, and if it were not for the stoic presence of the military team Carter is certain a good two thirds would have already abandoned the outpost already.

They will evacuate, she knows this. Gear is being packed up, helicopters readied. Orders are to pull out with thirty minutes to spare and that means everyone - even if she has to order a soldier to go drag McKay out by his ankles.

But she needs all the information at her disposal, and that includes anything McKay may be keeping from her.

The spikes appear on a computer monitor as white lines against a dark background. She follows their progress since the moment McKay hooked up the generator to the back-up memory system.

"They're increasing."

Tse bobs his head. "Minimally, but yes."

A warning bell goes off in Sam's mind. She brings up a second file, another set of readings. She has a hunch - a horrible, gnawing hunch which she prays isn't accurate but…

"Oh, no." she breathes, softly.

"What?" Lee asks, hesitantly. "Colonel? Is something wrong?"

"This!" She jabs at the screen. "The spikes aren't just the result of McKay's jury-rigging, it's something else!"

Tse leans past her and stares at the screen. "That's a buffer."

"An energy buffer. One that is blocking the release of energy from the memory banks and sending it back the way it came."

Lee shakes his head. "That shouldn't be happening. The buffer is there to channel the energy from the back-up computer to the central system. It shouldn't be acting as interference." He frowns. "Maybe it's been damaged?"

Tse frowns, biting his lip. "If it were damaged then the outpost is programmed to shut it down. The energy from the banks should feed through to the central core and be siphoned off into other areas. The system compensates for the error."

"Then why isn't it doing that now?"

"It's a second protocol," Sam breathes, softly. "We're dealing with two parts to the jigsaw, one on Atlantis and one on Earth. The outpost has sensed someone searching its systems and it is trying to shut down power to the memory banks. But it won't work because the power isn't coming from a ZPM - it's coming from an independent source."

"The back up generator," Tse finishes. "But that only produces a small amount of power…"

"Over time," she agrees, and now the alarm bells are a cacophony. "But not if allowed to build up with nowhere to exit to." She hits her radio, hard, and snaps: "McKay, if you're still listening to me, then I know exactly what's going on and I'm ordering you to get out of there!"

There is a very long pause, and for a moment she suspects the Canadian has switched off his radio. Then: _"I was hoping you wouldn't notice."_

"McKay, this is too dangerous!" Her heart is beating fast within her chest. She is furious - at herself for not seeing the anomaly sooner, furious at Rodney for trying to hide the truth from her. "Those energy spikes are only warning signs! The longer you stay down there the more power will build up in the buffer and it's going to blow!"

"_I know that," _he responds, testily. _"I'm keeping an eye on it."_

"Keeping an eye on it?" she repeats, angrily, her fear growing.

Tse is now bent over the console, bringing up new readings and scans. His look of consternation is growing. "Energy storage in the buffer is up to sixty five percent, and growing."

"You hear that, McKay?" she asks.

"_Of course. And it leaves thirty five percent to spare."_

"That's assuming the buffer isn't damaged," Lee says. He is wringing his hands together. "The actual storage capacity could be a lot lower. And if it blows…"

"_It will take the back up memory core with it, I know. This is all very distracting, Colonel."_

She scowls, close to grabbing her jacket and storming outside to drag him out herself. "If it goes over ninety five percent you won't have any warning, McKay. No escape." But then he knows that, she thinks, he knows that and he hasn't admitted it because she was right, he's playing the damn hero.

"Um, Colonel?"

"Are you listening, McKay? I'm not going to have to explain to General Landry why I lost our civilian consultant!"

"_Blame my courage."_

"Or your stupidity!"

"Colonel Carter?"

She turns. Lee is now standing by the open Stargate - and she realises it is vibrating, much harder and much faster than it was before. Lee is pale, and he has taken off his glasses and is rubbing the lenses with trembling hands.

"This is a problem" he says simply, then puts his glasses back on and turns to a computer.

Sam's eyes widen, and she moves to her own console. She can hear alarms starting to peal from the next room, the sound echoing around the hard space.

"Colonel Carter?" one of the soldiers asks, a lieutenant she doesn't recognise.

"It's the auto-destruct." Her fingers move quickly over the controls, in a blur.

Miller runs in from the room beyond, two scientists running after him. All three are pink faced and panicked-looking, and they head to the back of the Stargate. "We're trying to cut the power!"

"It won't work," Lee says, desperately. "Doing so now will overload the system."

"There's going to be an overload anyway," Carter says, staring at the readouts. "The auto-destruct has triggered early."

"_Colonel? Are those alarms yours?"_

She hits her radio again. "Yes, McKay. The reason the buffer is building up energy is…"

"_Because of a second protocol, I know. I figured that out a while ago, Colonel. But don't worry. You've got about twenty minutes to evacuate."_

The soldier has crossed the room and is now standing behind Carter's shoulder expectantly. She scowls, hating McKay in that moment, and gives the order. "Go on. Start the evacuation."

The lieutenant nods, and runs out of the room, shouting at his fellow soldiers.

"_Should be enough time, if you don't hang about,"_ McKay says. His voice is emotionless, as though he is reading off trivial data readings.

"You knew!" she snaps, shaking in anger and fear. "Why the hell didn't you say something?"

"_Because you would have pulled the generator, shut down the back up memory and lost us any chance of saving Atlantis."_

"It's only technology!"

"_Not if I know Radek and Elizabeth. And Sheppard. Probably Sheppard too. He's big on self-sacrifice. Likes being Kirk."_

She worries at his voice, at the way his words meander, as though he is distracting himself from the inevitable. "You haven't found the code yet, McKay! This isn't going to achieve anything!"

"_I'm close,"_ he responds, simply.

"Colonel," Lee says, by her elbow, wringing his hands.

She glances at him, then nods at Miller and the other scientists. "They can get out of here."

"_You too, Colonel. No good you staying."_

Sam has to resist the urge to swear, instead switching her radio frequency and venting her anger. "O'Connor, Nichols! Get McKay out of there, even if you have to shoot him in his good leg!"

"_That's a little harsh,"_ McKay says. _"Besides, it won't do you any good. The door to the server is shut and only someone with the gene can open it now - and I don't think Tango and Cash have it."_

"McKay!"

"_I'd suggest you leave now, Colonel. You've already wasted three minutes arguing with me."_

Sam looks again at Lee. They are the only two in the room now, although she can hear the sounds of a rushed evacuation from behind her. McKay is right - frustratingly, annoyingly right - they have enough time to escape the explosion. But she can't. Not even with the Stargate rumbling behind her, ice falling from the ceiling.

"No." She looks at Lee. "You can go, Bill. I'm staying with McKay."

* * *

_McKay_

"_I'm staying with McKay."_

McKay groans, smacking his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Don't be ridiculous, Colonel. You're not needed."

"_If you find the code you'll need someone to input it into the transmitter."_

"A job my laptop is entirely capable of doing. It is fully connected."

"_And what if it goes wrong?"_ she demands. _"What if the connection fails?"_

McKay pauses. He takes a breath, trying to control his voice, and fails. "Then this base and everything in it will be destroyed." His hands shake.

"_You've answered my question. I'm staying."_

He closes his eyes, just for a second. "Does the rank of Colonel come with that stupid streak or is it inbuilt potential that is gradually revealed?"

"_What?"_

"Never mind." He looks back down to the laptop. The truth is, although he knew of the second protocol, had discovered its existence the minute that tiny alarm had started to bleep, he never planned to go down with the ship. His time is limited, halved from what it was, but the idea of a recycle bin has been the key link he needed and now McKay is certain he is close to a solution. He can feel it.

"I'd continue arguing for your preservation, Colonel, but I'm guessing I can't change your mind?"

"_No chance."_

"Hmm." His hands move across the laptop in a blur. Rodney's world has narrowed to this tiny space, to the information scrolling across the computer monitor, several lines a second. He has forgotten the warmth of the room, the pain in his leg, the ache of his back, the exhaustion in his bones.

He is _close_.

"_Six minutes until Atlantis redials."_

Six minutes until his last chance.

"You know," he says, conversationally, skipping from one time period to the next, "I was actually starting to enjoy myself on Earth."

Sam laughs, the sound strained. _"Really?"_

"I have a cat. A new job. I had a date," he adds, ruefully. "She was nice. Smart."

"_I'm glad to hear you've moved on."_

"Never. You'll always be my first choice, Colonel. I'm just waiting for you to come to your senses."

"_I'm in full grasp of my senses, McKay. Trust me."_

"I dreamt about you."

"_If we're about to die, I really don't want this to be my last conversation."_

He ignores her. "Actually it wasn't a dream. More of a hallucination."

"_Four minutes, McKay."_

"I was trapped in a jumper that had crashed into the ocean. The water was rising, it was cold, I had hit my head. All in all, the day sucked."

"_McKay…"_

The information on the screen is starting to blur. McKay blinks, his eyes watering.

"And you were there. In pink. I've never seen you wear pink. It suits you."

"_I guess I should be glad I had clothes on."_

"For the most part." He pauses, relishing the image. "Anyway, you said - you said I should stop trying to rescue myself, because I would only make things worse. You said I should trust that my team would find me."

Sam says nothing. McKay stares at the computer screen, his mouth dry, wondering - is this it? Is this his final, grand failure?

"You were right, you know."

"_Hallucinations so often are."_

There is silence for several moments. McKay keeps one eye on the clock at the bottom of the screen. One last chance, he thinks.

Maybe it will make up for all his mistakes.

He can hear the sound of helicopters outside, muffled and indistinct.

"_Two minutes."_

"You shouldn't be here," he says, frowning. "You were supposed to evacuate."

"_So were you."_

"You know, if this doesn't work, then you should get out as quickly as possible. You'll still have at least ten minutes to clear the area before it blows."

"_Let me worry about that."_

"The blast radius should only be small. Significant, but contained. The ice will provide a natural barrier…" He cuts off, staring at the computer screen, his hand hitting pause.

"_McKay?"_

"Shut up." He highlights the text, reading it a second time before starting the download to the outpost mainframe. "I've found it." He laughs, short and slightly hysterical. "I've got it!"

"_The code?"_

"No, a hundred year old episode of the Simpsons. It's the one where Homer discovers the lost city of the Ancients. A classic. Yes, the code!"

She appears to ignore his jibe, her voice lifting a tone with excitement. _"I've got it! Uploading it now!"_

"Atlantis?"

"_Beginning to dial in. This will work. McKay, we've done it!"_

"We?!" he exclaims, petulantly.

"_The Stargate has engaged."_ He hears the whoosh of an opening wormhole, and holds his breath. _"Information is being exchanged…"_

She lapses into silence. McKay waits for a moment, then demands: "Well?"

"_It's working. Auto-destruct is shutting down."_ He can hear the sirens in the background of the radio suddenly cut off. _"The Stargate has disengaged. Power readings…"_ Sam breaks off.

McKay's chest suddenly constricts painfully. He looks up to the monitor in the wall opposite, where he first spotted the energy spikes.

Little has changed.

"_It's not enough. Energy is still building in the buffer of the back up memory unit. Ninety percent, ninety five… McKay, get the hell out of there now!"_

The glow of success dying abruptly, McKay starts to push himself to his feet. But he has forgotten about cramp, forgotten about the awkward position he has been lying in for the past six hours. The way he has abused his injured leg and hip, still recovering, still dependent upon physiotherapy. The moment he attempts to put weight on his right side his knee folds, and he crashes to the floor in an ungainly heap.

He must have cried out, because he can hear Carter in his ear, her voice loud and panicked.

"_McKay? What's going on?"_

"Just a little hitch," he says, panting heavily. "Nothing to worry about." He reaches out and grabs his cane, suddenly thankful for his earlier decision to bring it with him. With his right hand on the stick, his left grabs onto the dais for support, and with a great deal of effort he pulls himself upright. Then, leaving the laptop and generator behind, he takes several steps towards the door.

His knee again threatens to fold, but he falls against the wall, using it to prop himself upright as sensation returns to his leg.

It is pins and needles like he has never experienced before. His entire right side feels as though it is on fire, and his thigh shakes and trembles as violently as when he took his first steps in the Daedalus infirmary. It is only by hanging on to the wall that he is able to reach the doorway, and he mutters thanks to a god he doesn't believe in when it opens under his touch.

He pushes himself through the narrow gap, as around him the walls begin to shake, and chunks of ice fall from the ceiling. One narrowly clips his ear, and the other hits his right hand. With a cry of pain he releases his hold on the cane and without support his body falls, heavily, against the opposite wall.

"_McKay!"_

Breathing hard and fast in the dark, torch left behind, McKay rolls over and starts to drag himself back into a standing position. He cannot find the cane, and hasn't time to look. Larger chunks of ice start to fall, great rocks, and he hugs the wall to try and avoid being hit again. He can hear equipment sparking, and the grinding and screeching of metal against metal as behind him the control room ceiling starts to collapse. He can smell electrical smoke, something burning.

He is too slow, he realises, and laughs, the sound strangled and ugly in the shadows. This is why he could never have stayed on Atlantis. Why he would have been a danger to himself and to others.

The reason he was sent back to Earth, and now Earth is the place that will kill him.

He is too damn slow, and although he takes another step toward the exit tunnel, dragging his useless right side forward, it isn't enough.

Then the collapsed wall, the one the exit tunnel is built into, starts to move. The ice starts to shift, metal groaning, and as McKay watches he sees his one hope for escape disappear beneath the crumbling ground.

Something hard and sharp strikes the back of his head and pain explodes across his skull. He cries out, his right leg collapsing, and this time when he falls to the floor, Rodney doesn't get up again.

* * *

He opens his eyes to a world of silence and faces, dizzying images above him. He can't move, can only blink up at lights and shadows and Sam, who has her hand on his cheek. 

He is dying. He is dying and she has come to say goodbye.

Sam says something but he can't hear her, and he can't read lips, so he pretends she's confessing her undying love and tries to tell her he feels the same, but she has disappeared, her hand has gone and instead there are two new people stood over him, both dressed in white. One he doesn't recognise, the other…

Carson.

_Oh._

He closes his eyes, unable to breathe. Carson can't be here. Carson is on Atlantis with the others while he is on Earth trapped under snow and ice and metal and they can't both be here, which means Carson's not, not really, which means…

Sheppard appears over Carson's shoulder.

McKay blinks, his eyesight blurring. "Sorry," he says, and sobs, just once, just like in the apartment. "It didn't work. You're dead."

Ghost Carson glances at Ghost Sheppard and says something. Ghost Sheppard's face changes, and suddenly looks so devastated, so grief stricken, that McKay wants to tell him that it's okay, that he's not really upset over dying, because he always knew it would happen, sooner or later. And at least he'll have company.

Ghost Sheppard grips his shoulder and bends down close, so he can whisper into McKay's ear.

But he can't hear the words, and closes his eyes against the image and the pain, and then there is nothing.


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's Notes: Thank you for all the wonderful, wonderful reviews you guys have left! I love reading each one, although I do feel kind of mean, leaving you guys on a cliffy! Hmm, so some of you think this might have all been a dream? Well, if Dallas can do it... nah..._

_

* * *

Sheppard _

The alarms cease.

They are in the middle of an evacuation, Sheppard hurrying the scientists down the corridor, Weir in front, Zelenka protesting loudly at every step.

"Just a little more time! I am certain that we are close to a solution!"

Elizabeth shakes her head. This loss will hit her harder than the others, Sheppard thinks. For Zelenka Atlantis is a discovery, the promise of wonder. For Elizabeth it is something else entirely. A home to be cherished.

Sheppard feels the same, but he cannot allow himself to languish in loss. He focuses on getting the scientist to the jumper bay, on following his own orders and not leaving anyone behind.

"Please…"

"No, Radek," Elizabeth says, using the Czech's first name deliberately. Her voice is quiet but firm, her gaze hard. "It's too dangerous. I won't have anyone risk their lives for this city."

Sheppard watches Zelenka's reaction closely. The scientist is too similar to McKay, and he fears for another Doranda; readies himself to knock the other man out if he has to. But Radek is not Rodney. His shoulders sink and he nods, looking down at the floor.

"It is too hard."

Elizabeth swallows. "I know," she says, quietly. Her words are almost drowned out by the sirens; loud and piercing, a wail as the city prepares to die.

The lights are bright against his eyes, and Sheppard shades his eyes against them as they reach another doorway. They are only a short distance from the bay. On the mainland Beckett, Teyla and an unhappy Ronon wait for them. All three had wanted to stay onboard, although the Satedan had been the most unwilling to agree to the evacuation. None of them, Sheppard had had to point out, painfully, would be able to help save the city.

The small group is through the door when something changes.

A shift in the atmosphere. Hard to describe, impossible to explain to someone without the gene. But Atlantis - the lights, the air, the temperature - everything _shifts_, minutely.

And then the sirens stop.

"What the hell?" he demands, turning to look at Zelenka. He catches a glimpse of wide, startled eyes before the Czech has spun on his heel and is running in the opposite direction, back towards the control room. "Hey!" he shouts, alarmed, but the scientist's feet do not slow.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asks, glancing at Sheppard.

He shrugs, then takes off after Zelenka, aware of the other scientists and Elizabeth following. Radek can be surprisingly fast on his feet when he wants to be, spurred on by the promise of rescue, of hope.

He catches up as they reach the control room, Zelenka pounding up the stairs. The transporters are out, and Sheppard is the only one not breathless and panting. It doesn't stop Radek. The Czech bounds from computer console to computer console, as around them the lights settle to a normal level, and the Stargate powers down.

"Doctor Zelenka?" Elizabeth asks, moving to stand beside Sheppard as around them the scientists scurry between technology, restarting laptops and flipping on screens.

"The auto-destruct has ended." Radek looks up from his console with an enormous grin plastered across his face. "The redial function has stopped."

"Why?" Sheppard demands.

"I do not know. It is not something we did." He turns and points at a fellow scientist. "Ash? The protocol?"

David 'Ash' Ashcroft shrugs, his accent broad and untroubled. "Shut itself down. Seems it got what it was looking for."

"Then the answer came from Earth," Zelenka says. He frowns. "Should I contact the mainland?"

"Not yet." Elizabeth still sounds slightly stunned. "Not until we're sure the city is safe."

"I can delete the protocol to prevent this from happening again…"

Sheppard takes a step forward, taking over from Elizabeth. "How about we contact the SGC first?" he suggests. "Find out what happened. Can we dial Earth?"

Radek nods, and turns to another console, the one usually occupied by the young Canadian Sheppard can never remember the name of. "The system is powering down. The drain on the ZPM is…" he hesitates, "It is not negligible, but we can compensate." He starts to move his hands across the console keys, and below them the Stargate starts to spin.

Elizabeth moves to a nearby laptop which Doctor Ross has connected to the system. Sheppard joins her, keeping one eye on the 'gate as the chevrons lock. He still expects something to go wrong, cannot trust that the solution would be so simple, or that it would come from an outside source.

A wormhole forms, light spilling into the space and illuminating the windows at the back. Outside the sky is blue, a warm summer day.

Elizabeth glances at Zelenka, who nods, before speaking into the microphone Ross presents her with. Audio only, Sheppard thinks, as the video is not yet set up.

"Stargate Command, this is Atlantis. Please come in."

There is a slight pause - crossing several galaxies results in a time delay - and then they hear a response, tinny over the laptop speakers.

"_This is Stargate Command, Atlantis. It is good to hear from you."_

Sheppard recognises the speaker as General Landry, and instinctively straightens, even though he cannot be seen.

"General," Elizabeth says, smiling. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you."

"_The situation has resolved itself, I understand?"_

"Apparently, although we are eager to know why. I'm afraid we had no success here and were making the final evacuation."

"_Then the doctors acted just in time. I'm afraid you'll have to speak to them for an explanation, Doctor Weir. I'm not aware of the circumstances and science isn't my subject. If you could bear with us a moment we will connect you with Colonel Carter in Antarctica."_

"That would be appreciated," Elizabeth says, warmly. "Many thanks, General."

There is a long pause. Sheppard shifts his weight between his feet, trying to ease some of the tension in his muscles. Atlantis seems settled, back to normal, but he is unable to shake his nerves, still feels a sense of failure and loss.

Then, finally: _"Doctor Weir, this is Colonel Carter in Antarctica."_

Again Elizabeth smiles, and some of Sheppard's tension eases slightly. Zelenka bounces on his toes behind them, eager to speak.

"Colonel Carter," Elizabeth says. "This is Doctor Weir."

"_It worked,"_ Carter breathes. Her voice is odd, a mix of relief and something else Sheppard can't identify. He wishes they had time to set up the video link, realising how much he relies on visual appearance to judge a person's honesty. If this were not Carter, he would have difficulty trusting the confirmation of success.

They came so close to losing it all, he thinks, and places his hand just beneath the console, reassuring himself of the city's existence.

"We are little confused as to how," Zelenka says, loudly, so his voice can be heard over the microphone.

"_The system in Antarctica keeps back up copies of its data in case the mainframe is corrupted. The secondary server has only recently been discovered but it provided the original code required to shut down the protocol."_

"Then we have you to thank for our survival?" Elizabeth asks.

"_Actually_," her voice hitches, minutely, _"it was mostly Rodney."_

Sheppard stills, and is aware of Elizabeth doing the same. Of course, he thinks. He is shocked he hadn't guessed sooner. Logically it makes sense; Zelenka said the solution was on Earth, not on Atlantis, and the foremost expert on Ancient technology was now residing back in the Milky Way.

And emotionally, irrationally… it feels _right._

He relaxes, grinning and feeling slightly light-headed. Coming so close to destruction, and then having McKay pull a Hail Mary without them even knowing.

"Could I speak with him?" Elizabeth asks.

Abruptly the peace is shattered, as Carter says: _"That's not possible. Doctor Weir, I'm sorry, but I need to speak with Doctor Zelenka."_

Elizabeth frowns, glancing at the Czech, who has paled slightly. "Is there any continuing risk to Atlantis or the Antarctic base?"

"_No, no risk. It's something else."_ Her voice sounds panicked, urgent.

After a moment's confused hesitation, Elizabeth steps back and allows Zelenka to come closer to the microphone. She exchanges a glance with Sheppard, one of worry and fear.

"Colonel Carter," Radek begins, then says something completely unexpected. "It is good to speak to you finally."

Sheppard raises an eyebrow, opens his mouth to ask a question, but doesn't get chance.

"_I wish this were better circumstances, Doctor. But this is an emergency. Do you have the device?"_

The Czech turns an even paler shade of white, and Sheppard sees the man's hands clasp together. "Yes. I kept it back for the final evacuation. You need it?"

"_Rodney needs it. I don't… I'm sorry, I'm not explaining myself."_

A prickle runs down Sheppard's spine, cold and uncomfortable.

"_He was working in the room housing the back up server searching through copies of the database for the code Atlantis would recognise. He succeeded, but the Antarctic base saw his efforts as further tampering by the enemy and a power surge was triggered which caused the room to collapse. Rodney was trapped inside."_

Sheppard swallows. He is aware of Elizabeth taking a step forward, of speaking despite the fact Radek is still standing beside the microphone.

"Is he alright?" she asks.

"_He… it took a while to dig the tunnel out…"_ Carter's voice falters. _"No. He's badly injured. They're trying to stabilise him, prepping him for transport to the nearest military hospital but the medical team said…"_

"He is dying," Zelenka says, softly. Then he swears beneath his breath in Czech. "Stupid man. He has always had the worst timing."

"The Tok'ra healing device," Elizabeth says, then shakes her head. "It won't work."

"Not alone." Radek winces, then looks across at them both, apologetically. "I did not inform you of this, Doctor Weir, Colonel Sheppard. Perhaps I should have. But it is done, now, and Rodney has not left us with any choice."

Sheppard shakes his head. "What are you talking about?"

"On P3X-781, amongst the artefacts left in the Ancient storeroom, there was a variety of medical equipment. This included something which in essence works in a similar manner to the Tok'ra healing device. It appeared to be a prototype, and Atlantis did not have the knowledge or the parts to fix it, but it did seem promising, and with Rodney's injury…" He pauses, waving a hand expressively.

"_Doctor Zelenka and Doctor Beckett contacted me, hoping that the Ancient device and the Tok'ra device could be integrated to produce something which would cure McKay's injury."_

"But it will not work!" Zelenka says, suddenly. "We do not have an operator…"

"_I can take care of that,"_ Carter says. _"But you need to send the device through the Stargate. And Doctor Beckett…"_

"Of course," Elizabeth says.

"_Thank you, Doctor Weir."_

"Thank _you_, Colonel. If it wasn't for yours and Rodney's efforts I doubt we would be having this conversation. And please," she hesitates, biting her lip. "Take care of Rodney for us."

"_I will."_ The radio cuts off, and the Stargate follows a moment later, the event horizon blinking out of existence.

Elizabeth turns to speak to Radek, but he is already at another computer console. "Doctor Zelenka…"

"I apologise for not telling you of the project," he says sincerely, without looking up. "It is not yet complete. There are so many variables…" He breaks off, shaking his head.

"Ma'am?" Ashcroft says, looking across at them. "We have radio communication with the mainland."

She nods, about to take a step forward. Sheppard reaches out and places his hand on her arm.

"Permission to go with Doctor Beckett."

She turns, frowning slightly. "To Earth? Colonel…"

He moves a little closer, closing the space between them. "I need to be there," he says, vehemently.

Elizabeth purses her lips, then asks: "Why?"

Sheppard hesitates. "I don't know," he admits, because he doesn't. Isn't sure of his emotions, except he can't think of a time in the past few months when he hasn't been fighting to get McKay out of his head, and he can't stand by and wait while Rodney dies without closure - hell, he can't stand by and wait at all. "I just need to."

She stares at him for a moment, her gaze penetrating, then she nods. "Alright." She turns away, towards the radio. Ashcroft moves aside and indicates the switch to press. "Major Lorne, this is Doctor Weir."

Sheppard takes a step back, and almost bumps into Zelenka, who is stood behind him. The Czech is wringing his hands, his gaze flitting between Weir and the Stargate.

"Doc'?"

Zelenka shakes his head, muttering beneath his breath. "It was not supposed to be used yet. It may not work. Rodney…" Again he lapses into exasperated, frightened Czech.

Sheppard sighs, because he does not want to admit his own fears. "McKay has always been impatient."

* * *

_Daniel_

The corridors of the SGC are quiet. It is late evening, and most of the base staff have gone home. Many of the offices are in darkness, the labs empty, the corridors deserted save for a lone cleaner mopping the floor.

Daniel likes it at this time. He can get the most work done, without interruption. He increasingly finds that off-world missions take time away from his first passion, archaeology, so he takes shelter in the hours of dusk and hides away in his office with papers and artefacts and emails from peers.

But tonight he has achieved little. Since the emergency call from Atlantis the focus of the SGC has been on aiding the team in Antarctica. Without a Stargate any off-world missions have been rescheduled, and teams sent home. Daniel remained, stood in a corner of the control room while Harriman and a number of other techs kept in regular contact with the scientists on the Ancient base. Landry spent the time either in his office or in the control room, greeting Daniel with a nod each time.

An hour ago there had been panic. The call had been given to evacuate the outpost, Lee had explained, his voice frantic. The auto-destruct had been triggered early, but he had only vague details why, the explanation short. He knew that Colonel Carter and Doctor McKay were staying behind as long as they could to search for a solution.

Then a second call, again from Bill. Crisis averted, he had said, although again he didn't have details. The science team was returning to the base.

Daniel had stayed quiet, slipping out of the room while the staff of the control room burst into cheering. His feelings of relief had been tempered by something else, a niggling worry he couldn't identify.

He has tried to bury his attention in his work, with little success. Walter's call interrupts a twenty minute session in which he has only read a single page.

"_Doctor Jackson, I have a video call for you from Colonel Carter."_

He looks up, surprised. "Thanks, Walter."

He reaches out to his computer and flicks the screen on. A video window pops up, and after a moment of blackness Sam's face appears. The image is grainy and unclear, but he can see her paleness, her eyes bloodshot.

"Sam."

"Daniel." She smiles, but the expression seems weak. "We did it."

"So I heard. Congratulations. Not that I ever had any doubts, of course." He frowns. "What is it?"

Her eyes dip. "I need you to deliver a message for me."

This gets his attention. He sits up, journal forgotten. "A message?"

"It's McKay. He's been injured."

He swallows, fearing the dark look in his friend's eyes. "Badly?"

She nods, unable to meet his gaze.

"What can I do?"

She lifts her head and says, awkwardly: "I can't ask the General. There isn't time. He'll ask too many questions, and I can't answer them all now. You'll have to do it without him knowing."

"Just tell me," he says, simply.

"I need you to contact the Tok'ra."

* * *

_Sheppard_

Being back on Earth is a strange experience.

Sheppard has had no time to adjust.

Carson had been on the first jumper to return from the mainland. He had stepped into the gateroom with only a simple holdall, packed lightly with a few essentials. He had only raised an eyebrow at the announcement that Sheppard would be accompanying him.

It was almost as if, he thought ruefully, Elizabeth was glad to be rid of him.

Then arriving in Antarctica, and realising he had forgotten to bring any warm clothing. The strangeness of stepping through the 'gate back through to Earth and not seeing the concrete of the SGC on the other side. A scientist named Lee greeting them, guiding them through the outpost to a helicopter waiting outside.

The journey seems to Sheppard to take too long. Outside the snow is blinding. He can see the Antarctic outpost below them, a great crater in the ground where, he is told, the back up server once was.

The area has folded in on itself, a pit in the landscape of ice and metal and darkness. No one inside should have survived.

Carson sits beside him, deep in conversation with the hospital over his radio. Sheppard keeps only half an ear on their words, enough to reassure himself that McKay is still alive, albeit hanging on by a thread.

Stubborn, he thinks, turning his head away from the window.

He has been angry for months now. He isn't stupid, he knows what Elizabeth and Heightmeyer have discussed behind his back, he knows Teyla is fearful and Ronon has his doubts.

And he is _tired_. Tired of being angry, at McKay for being so damn stupid as to get himself injured, at himself for being the one responsible.

"_Don't tell me how to act, and don't tell me everything's going to be fine! You have no idea!"_

His left hand curls around his knee.

"_This is all your damn fault, you know that!"_

He was the team leader. He was supposed to be doing the protecting, and look what a fine job he had done. McKay, forced back to Earth, and Sheppard unable to stop this…

Irrational, he tells himself. He can't blame himself for this.

If there was a way, he would.

He must have phased out, because suddenly Carson is tapping him on the shoulder and the helicopter is coming in to land. Sheppard spies concrete and electric lines across the landscape, although he realises he has no idea where he is, other than somewhere very far North.

He doesn't understand the device Carson cradles so carefully in a bag on his lap. Only that Zelenka and the Scot have been working on it for a while now, with Carter's assistance. That it is the only hope for McKay.

The helicopter lands smoothly, the door opening. Outside the air is like a physical force against his chest, freezing through his jacket, and again he wishes he had thought to dress more appropriately back in Atlantis.

But there had been little time.

"This way, sirs," their guide says, pushing the doors open before them.

Carson glances at Sheppard for a second, his blue eyes crinkled with concern. "Colonel…"

Sheppard swallows, and gestures at the hallway, wanting to cut Carson off from whatever it is he is about to admit to. "After you, doc'."

Beckett frowns, but obediently turns back to their guide.

The hospital smells of bleach. It is familiar and horrible. A military base, like all the others Sheppard has seen in his time, though this one is colder than most. The corridors are cleanly tiled and devoid of life, and the noise of their boots against the floor echoes.

Ahead of them a door suddenly opens, swinging wide and hitting the wall with a bang. Colonel Carter appears, dressed in a thick jacket and scarf. Sheppard wonders how far behind the medical evac team their own 'copter was.

"You're here," she says, with obvious relief. "He's through here. He's awake."

Sheppard hears a quick intake of breath from Carson, and picks up his pace into a run just as the Scot does. Both men round the doorway at the same time.

Inside is a room filled with medical equipment, painted white on all four walls and the floor, as brilliant as the snow outside. In the centre of the room is a tightly knit group of people clustered around a gurney, but McKay cannot be seen. Most of the equipment is connected to the bed; IV stands, something that looks like a crash cart.

"McKay," Carter calls out, as she moves towards the bed.

For a moment Shepard is overcome by emotion, a sense of hatred. She has no right to be here, he thinks, irrationally. This is wrong - horribly, horribly wrong.

He takes a deep breath, pushing down on the feelings, and moves past the people stood around the bed. McKay is bundled up in blankets, his face almost entirely disguised by bandages on his head and an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

Blue eyes open sluggishly, staring at Carter.

She reaches out and places a hand against the physicist's cheek.

"Hey, Rodney. It's going to be okay."

"Colonel Carter," someone says, a man Sheppard doesn't recognise. Tall, with peppery grey hair, and odd clothes under his white coat. Something about him screams alien.

Tok'ra, Sheppard guesses, although he still doesn't understand.

"You will need to construct the device now."

"I know," she says, and takes a step back, allowing the Tok'ra and Carson to take her place.

McKay's gaze continues to roam, as though looking for something. The moment his sight fixes on Carson his eyes widen, his breath quickens.

One of the pieces of medical equipment squeals an alarm.

"Oh," Carson says, desperately. "Don't be doing that, Rodney."

Sheppard pushes closer to the bed, beside Beckett, so he can lay a hand on the blankets. "McKay." The Canadian has his eyes closed, his skin pasty, gasping against the mask. "Rodney."

McKay opens his eyes. Sheppard sees his mouth move, and before anyone can stop him he has reached over and lifted the mask from his friend's face.

Just for a moment, he thinks. Just for a second…

"Sorry." Rodney's voice is nothing but breathless air, and he breaks off with a sob, a sound that makes Sheppard's heart clench painfully within his chest. "It didn't work. You're dead." Then he gasps again, and Sheppard slips the mask gently back onto the scientist's face.

His fingers are numb, he thinks, oddly.

"He thinks he failed," Carson says, his voice tight.

Sheppard turns back to the bed, his ribs constricting, muscles tense. He wants to do something, wants to grab McKay's hand, touch his shoulder, anything to reassure his friend of his presence, but McKay's body is hidden by blankets and all Sheppard can do is lean down close, to whisper into the scientist's ear.

"Hey," he says, repeating his words, back in the infirmary on Atlantis when they were both broken and hurting. "You did good, McKay."

But Rodney's eyes have already fluttered shut, and his lips are starting to turn blue, and before Sheppard has time to react the trolley is being pulled away, forcing him to take a step back.

"He's tachycardic," someone says, alarmed.

"Colonel!" someone else calls, the Tok'ra. For a moment Sheppard thinks the alien is calling to him, but then he sees Carter move forward, following the trolley.

He tries to follow, but a nurse steps into his path and blocks his way.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. You'll have to wait out here."

For a moment he considers ignoring her, pushing past her, but then he realises he would achieve nothing, and he sinks back. "Right."

She pats him on the shoulder. "Your friend is in good hands."

"I know," he says, numbly.

The woman smiles, then assess him critically. "You must be freezing in that outfit. Take a seat, and I'll see if I can find you something warmer to wear. And how about a coffee?"

He nods, to both, and takes the seat directed.

He fixes his gaze on the doors, still vibrating from McKay's sudden and hasty exit.

Again he feels a swell of bitterness, aimed at Carter, but he squashes it. He doesn't know the woman, and has never been certain whether to treat her as a scientist or as a soldier. He knows he trusts her, because McKay does, and because Zelenka and Carson have taken her into their confidence.

He wasn't privy to the information about the device, and he wonders how much of an ass he has been to be left out of the loop.

_McKay_, he thinks. His right hand makes a fist.


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's Notes: Yup, I'm feeling pretty evil right about. I need a white cat to stroke, or something. No more cliffies from now on, I promise! And we're nearing the end...

* * *

__McKay_

McKay wakes slowly, and with difficulty. Exhaustion dogs every move, from breathing to twitching his fingers.

"Rodney? You with us, lad?"

He opens his eyes. His vision is blurred, and he has to blink several times before a face swims into view.

"Carson?"

His voice is little more than an incoherent croak, but it is enough to prompt the Scot into a face-splitting grin.

"Aye, Rodney."

Something cold and wet touches his lips; an ice-chip, which he swallows, gladly.

He can't think. His thoughts are muddled, a series of mixed up images interrupted by shadows. He remembers ice, and pain, and Carter's voice in his ear but being unable to respond. He remembers seeing ghosts.

But ghosts don't come with Scottish accents and dress in lab coats.

"I know you're tired, Rodney, and you can sleep in a moment. But could you do us a small favour first?"

He doesn't say anything, can't summon the energy to speak, but he keeps his eyes open and that apparently is enough for Carson.

"Good lad. Could you try and move your feet?"

Rodney wants to laugh. He can't lift his own head at the moment, and moving his feet? Beckett might as well have asked him to move a mountain.

"Come on, McKay," says a voice. Sheppard.

He tries, obediently, but has no idea if he has succeeded or not.

Carson smiles again. "That's it. Now, can you tell me if you feel this?"

Something tickles along his right thigh, something sharp without being painful, like pressing a needle into a thumb. He grunts, because that is all he can manage.

"That's great, Rodney." Carson pats his shoulder. "You can go to sleep, now."

Finally, McKay thinks, and he immediately lapses back into unconsciousness without realising why Carson's words are important.

* * *

The second time he wakes, there is less equipment around his bed, and the lights are dim. In the shadows Sheppard slumbers, curled into a chair, his legs hanging over the arm. 

Rodney stares at him.

He is still exhausted. His limbs feel leaden, like when he woke in the infirmary after being pulled from the bottom of the ocean. Like his bones have been beaten and his muscles stretched, like he is recovering from the mother of all physiotherapy sessions.

He tries to think.

Starbucks green. The blue of Carter's sweater as she sat opposite him. The white of Antarctica. The grey of the dark.

He is on Earth, in a hospital, and Sheppard is sleeping by his bed.

The Colonel snorts, and pulls up his left arm so it lies across his chest.

Everything is okay.

McKay closes his eyes and sleeps.

* * *

"Rodney? Time to rise and shine." 

McKay groans, and attempts to swat the speaker without opening his eyes. Someone grabs his wrist and holds firm.

"We'll have none of that. Open your eyes."

He grimaces, but obeys, slowly. Carson's face swims into view. The Scot's fingers unlock, and Rodney drops his arm back to the bed.

"How are we feeling?"

He licks dry lips, and rasps: "Like hell."

Carson pulls an odd face. "Aye, well, I was afraid there might be side-effects. Better that than the alternative though."

Rodney frowns, not understanding. He wants to ask Carson why he is here, where has Sheppard gone, what happened.

He licks his lips again, but Carson takes this to mean something else, and slips an ice chip into his mouth.

"Slowly," the physician warns.

He allows the ice to melt in his mouth, then swallows.

"Doctor McKay?"

A man McKay doesn't recognise stands beside Carson. Tall, with grey hair and a long nose. Beneath his lab coat he wears odd clothes made of a tan material. Rodney blinks.

"My name is Karlatt. I am a friend of Colonel Carter's."

McKay's eyes widen, as he realises where he has seen those clothes before. Mission reports. SG-1 mission reports.

"You're Tok'ra."

The man bows his head. "I am. I am also a scientist."

Rodney's breath starts to quicken, his heart pounding. In the dim background he is aware of something beeping. "No," he says. "It didn't work. Carter tried it. That woman - Vala - she tried."

Someone places a hand on his shoulder. McKay turns, and sees Sam standing by the other side of the bed. She is smiling, her eyes bright.

"This is something different, McKay. Something new."

"But we need to see if it worked," Carson says. He takes a step away from the bed, and McKay lifts his head from the pillow to follow the Scot's movements. Beckett goes to the end of the bed, and peels back the blankets.

The air is cold against his bare skin.

Carson places one hand at the base of Rodney's heel, and the other around his ankle, just like Maggie so many times before. He presses against the heel gently, then with more strength.

"Does that hurt?"

McKay shakes his head. He is frightened, unable to speak, terrified at what Carson may be about to do, what may be promised to him, and what may be lost.

I can't do this again, he thinks.

"What was that?" Carson frowns.

He swallows, and repeats, in a louder voice: "I can't."

Sam squeezes his shoulder. "You don't get it, McKay. We already did. Now listen to Doctor Beckett."

He nods, weakly, and returns his gaze to watch Carson.

The Scot grips his foot firmly, and orders: "Push."

Rodney does, hard, because he does not expect his leg to react, because he expects a numbness where nerves once were, and pain where metal tears against muscle.

Beckett's hand moves, easily.

There is no numbness. No pain.

Rodney holds his breath, and tries again.

He hits something soft, and hears Beckett yelp.

"Not so bloody hard, Rodney! That's my stomach!"

Carter lifts her head to grin at the Tok'ra. "It worked."

"Your medical scans showed this," the alien says, calmly.

"I know, but…" She looks down at Rodney, and laughs. "It worked."

With a gasp, Rodney pushes himself up into a sitting position, his arms shaking.

This isn't true, he tells himself. This was how it was supposed to be, the first time around, this was what he had hoped for, what had been denied him. He has had nightmares about this. Woken shaking and sweating in the dark, thinking no, it was only a dream, only a lie.

He swings his legs off the bed, ignoring Carson's protested: "Easy!"

His bare feet touch the floor, toes first, then the rest. The three onlookers step back. McKay ignores them. He pushes himself forward, putting more weight on his feet and legs. Then more, until only his hips are touching the mattress. His right leg doesn't hurt, doesn't even twinge, not when he pushes off the bed with his hand on the rails just in case, not when he lets go and then he is standing with his feet against the floor, in scrubs and nothing else, and he takes a step forward, right foot first…

And doesn't fall.

Rodney's body trembles, just once, with effort. Carson suddenly grabs his arm and pushes him back onto the mattress, tutting.

"I shouldn't have expected you to listen to me. Your body is tired, Rodney. You've put it through the wringer, and you need to rest, to recover."

Impulsively, his face hot and eyes stinging, Rodney reaches out and places his hand over Beckett's. He needs the touch, needs to know this is real and not make-believe.

"Carson…"

"Aye," Carson says, briefly squeezing McKay's arm before extracting his hand. "You'll be right as rain in a few days. As good as you were before all this."

He starts to push McKay back, so he is again lying on pillows. Rodney doesn't resist.

He has started to tremble, and it isn't because of exhaustion. There is a lump in his throat and he turns, violently, because dear god, this isn't his apartment, and he isn't alone.

He presses his face into the pillow.

Someone pats his shoulder. "Get some sleep."

He can hear them move away, hears the curtains swish, but McKay doesn't move. He breathes into the pillow, hot and fast, and closes his eyes.

Distantly, someone speaks.

"Did it…"

"Yes, Colonel. But I think Rodney needs a little space. You can come back in a little while."

Carson moves away, footsteps against a tiled floor.

Fabric brushes against fabric as someone pushes past the curtains. Rodney doesn't move, still buried into the pillow.

He shudders.

Someone places a hand on the back of his neck, briefly.

"You heard the doc', McKay. Get some rest. Everything will still be here when you wake up."

He sleeps.

* * *

McKay isn't sure how much time has passed. 

He wakes, on and off. Around him the scenery changes. Sometimes it is Sheppard, asleep by his bed. Sometimes it is Beckett. The pieces of equipment change and disappear, until he is left with an IV and nothing else.

His scrubs have been changed. He frowns at them, wanting answers where there are none.

He twitches his right foot. Lifts it and presses it against the end of the bed.

He is still tired. It is only the suspicion that his efforts will land him face first on the floor that keeps McKay from trying to walk again.

To walk unaided, without pain.

He can't believe it, but he keeps telling himself he should. He has seen stranger, after all, in both the Milky Way and in the Pegasus galaxy.

It doesn't make sense. He tests his right foot again, pushing against the bed rail, the metal cold against his skin.

McKay can't believe it.

He wishes he knew why he's so damn tired, though.

This time when he wakes, Sam Carter is in the chair beside him. She gets up when she realises he is awake, putting her book to one side.

"Morning, McKay."

He struggles to sit up, wanting to seem slightly less pathetic and limp than he feels. After a moment of fighting with the pillows he gives up, looking at Sam with a scowl.

"Little help?"

She grins, and leans over to lift him into the pillows. "You're looking better."

"I feel like crap."

"That's a side-effect. Of course, if you hadn't forced our hand, we could have worked out any kinks."

He frowns, confused. "A side-effect of what? Who is we?"

Sam sighs. "I suppose no one has explained to you what happened?"

Rodney shakes his head, impatiently. He is frustrated at his own, lingering weakness. At his confusion, and his body's continuing call to sleep. "Not exactly."

"Doctor Zelenka found an Ancient healing device in the wreckage of a storeroom during an off-world mission. He thinks it was a prototype, so it came with no instructions, and no spare parts. However, he realised it worked in a similar manner to the Tok'ra healing device, and that's when he contacted me."

He shifts against the pillows, struggling to take it all in. He has too many questions; how long has Zelenka worked on this project without telling anyone, why didn't Radek mention in it his letter, how did they get Ancient technology to interface with Tok'ra technology? "Can I see it?"

"Maybe later," she answers. "Doctor Beckett and Doctor James have you under orders to rest, and I wouldn't disobey either of them."

"Aye," says a voice, from behind Carter, "You'd do well to listen to the Colonel, Rodney."

Carson appears beside Sam, and starts to examine the IV. "How are we feeling?"

"Like road kill." He snorts, and says without meaning it: "You're sure this thing really worked?"

As though he doesn't know that, and as though he hasn't swallowed back sobs of relief when no one was looking.

As though this is normal, as though _he_ is normal.

Beckett gives a long suffering sigh. "Yes, Rodney. Your body has been healed. Unfortunately the device works a little differently to the Tok'ra healing device in that it drains the energy of the patient, not the user. Your blood pressure and glucose levels bottomed out and it is taking your body longer than normal to recover. Radek and I were aware of the problem but we believe it is only temporary. Of course, we had only tried it on mice before now…"

"Mice?!" McKay squeaks, suddenly alarmed. "You mean I was your guinea pig?"

"Well, you didn't give us much choice." Beckett's expression darkens. "Bloody idiot. I thought Sheppard was the only one to go on suicide runs."

Rodney's eyes widen. "What are you talking about?"

Sam grimaces. "You don't remember?"

"Obviously!"

"The building housing the back-up server collapsed, trapping you inside. By the time we'd dug you out…" She trails off, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

McKay stares at her, suddenly chilled. He remembers ice, and the dark.

"There wasn't anything we could do," Sam finishes, opening her eyes and schooling her expression. "Not on Earth, anyway."

There is a short silence. McKay stares at his hands, lying atop the sheets. "Oh," he says, too shocked to say anything more coherent. "I don't exactly remember."

"No, well…" Beckett claps him on the shoulder awkwardly, and coughs. "The important thing is, you're still with us."

He looks up, meeting Carson's gaze, forcing himself to speak while his emotions are still high, and before he can chicken out. "Thank you," he says, earnestly. He reaches out, his hand on the other man's wrist. "Carson…" His voice breaks a tiny fraction, and he stops.

"Well…" The Scot turns an odd shade of pink, and says quickly: "Since you saved Atlantis, I suppose we're even."

_No_, McKay thinks, because Atlantis is a city, and this is his _life_. But Beckett is already turning away.

"I'm sure you're hungry. I'll see what I can drum up for you, shall I?"

He suddenly realises that he _is_ hungry, starving, his stomach empty and hollow. "Not soup," he orders, remembering the watery leek concoction from Antarctica.

Beckett frowns, but his annoyance is tempered by relief. "You'll get what you're given, Rodney. Doctor's orders."

McKay scowls, preparing another comeback, but Sam taps on the bed rail and interrupts his train of thought.

"Don't be greedy, McKay."

He huffs, then stops, suddenly struck by a fuzzy memory that makes little sense. "A Tok'ra," he says, surprised. "There was a Tok'ra here."

"Karlatt. Yes." Sam wraps her fingers around the rail. "The Tok'ra healing device didn't work the first time because of the shrapnel in your leg. Whatever that material was, it reacted to the healing effects of the Tok'ra device. Fortunately, the Ancient version could compensate for that reaction. The downside is that when we combined the two, it needed someone with both the Ancient gene and the naquadah markers to operate it. Karlatt volunteered and," she shrugs, "we got lucky."

"You asked the Tok'ra to help me?" he asks, incredulously. "As invaluable as I am to the SGC, I doubt the Tok'ra would agree."

"Karlatt was a friend of my dad's. He owed him a favour he never repaid, so I called in the debt." She pulls a face. "We also promised to share all our knowledge on the integrated device with the Tok'ra."

"We?" he asks, sceptically.

"Daniel, mostly. The General wasn't entirely happy about it, but by the time he found out Karlatt was already here."

McKay sinks back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. He is struggling to take it all in. Zelenka discovering a ruined Ancient artefact and leaping on it as the promise of a way to help his predecessor. Enlisting the help of Carter and Beckett - apparently without the official support of the SGC. Carson and Sheppard making the trip from Pegasus to Earth.

He blinks. "Why?"

Sam gives him a wry, sad smile. "As difficult as you make it, McKay, we actually like you. And as annoying as you are to have around, we'd be more annoyed if you weren't." She breaks off, looking up and across the room. "Colonel."

McKay turns his head. Sheppard is walking across the infirmary towards them, but suddenly stops when he hears Carter call his name.

"Oh." He looks awkward, on edge - not a stance McKay finds natural on the man. "Colonel Carter. McKay. You're awake."

He grimaces. "Um… yes." He wishes, intently, that the ground would open up and swallow him.

"You've been asleep a lot," Sheppard says, and then grimaces. "Obviously."

Seeing a way out, McKay leaps on the words and admits: "I'm tired. Still, ah, very tired. Side-effect."

"Yeah." Sheppard glances at the door behind him. "I should let you rest."

"Right."

The Colonel nods, uncertainly, then takes a step back. "I'll see you later," he says, hesitantly, then turns and disappears back through the door.

McKay fights the urge to disappear beneath the bedclothes. He catches Sam staring at him with an odd look, and fakes a wide yawn.

Unperturbed, she asks: "What was that?"

"What?" he replies, as nonchalantly as he can manage with his heart beating fast.

"You and the Colonel." She waves a hand. "The atmosphere in here just dipped about ten degrees."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He rolls over in the bed, deliberately turning his back on her. "Like I said before, I'm tired. Maybe I'll skip lunch."

"Breakfast," she says. He can tell from the tone of her voice that she still wants answers, but he ignores her.

The Colonel has every right to hate him, he thinks bitterly, wrapping his arms around his chest. His behaviour on Atlantis. The words he said. And now Sheppard can't stand to be in the same room as him, too angry, and Rodney can't blame him.

He doesn't understand why Sheppard is here at all.

* * *

_Carson_

Sheppard is sitting in the base canteen, a small room suitable for feeding the handful of people permanently stationed here. His meal sits, half-eaten, on a tray before him, and the Colonel stares into it as though searching for lost answers.

Beckett goes over to the serving hatch and retrieves a plate of lasagne and a tea, both steaming hot. He heads over to Sheppard's table and takes a seat on the bench opposite.

"Has it talked back yet?"

Sheppard looks up, his expression one of confusion. "Has what talked back?"

"Your food," Carson says, pointing at the bowl with his fork. He takes a mouthful of the lasagne. The pasta is a wonderful mix of tastes, rich tomato with a milky cheese.

"Oh." Sheppard sighs, pushing the bowl away from him. "I guess I was distracted."

"Deep in thought?" Carson asks, around a mouthful of mince. "I'm sure I can guess what about. Or who."

He doesn't get a reply. John tips back his chair and drops his chin to his chest, diverting his gaze.

"Just talk to him, Colonel," Beckett implores. "It would make things much easier, and not just for you and him."

"I guess I haven't been a fun person to be around in the past few weeks."

"A little longer than that, and no. But then, it's not been pleasant for any of us. It can't go on like this. Not now."

"I'm not good at the…" Sheppard waves a hand. "You know. And besides, McKay doesn't want to see me."

"And how do you know that if you haven't asked him?"

"Because," the soldier retorts, clearly struggling with his words. "Because if it wasn't for me…" He breaks off, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have left Atlantis."

"I'm sure Rodney is glad you came."

Sheppard snorts, staring at his hands. "Will he be okay?"

"Aye, right as rain in a day or so. His injuries have completely healed - both from the mission, and the ones sustained here. His body will take a little while to recover from the shock of using the healing device, that's all. He'll be released from the infirmary today, although I want him to stay on base for another twenty four hours before we leave here." Carson sighs, remembering the way McKay had looked only a few days previously. The diagnosis given by the doctors here. He shivers. "Bloody miracle, that device of Zelenka's and the Colonel's."

"When did he tell you about it?"

He pauses, still feeling guilty over keeping the device a secret. "About a week after you found it on the planet. Radek thought it looked promising but he needed a medical perspective if he was going to proceed."

"It would have been nice," Sheppard says dryly, "to have been kept in the loop."

Carson shifts nervously in his seat, poking at the lasagne. "I was sworn to secrecy, Colonel, and at the time I agreed with Radek. No good announcing it to the world if it turned out not to help."

"I wasn't talking about telling the world, Doc'."

"No." He sighs. "I suppose not. Still, you know now."

"And it worked," Sheppard says, with a wry smile. "With you, Zelenka and Colonel Carter working on it, I wouldn't have expected anything less."

Beckett smiles, remembering Rodney's face when he first realised what had happened. Testing his feet against the hospital floor, and Carson watching, desperately afraid that his scans were wrong, and that all he had offered Rodney was more false hope. "I wasn't sure at the time."

"McKay's lucky you're his doctor."

"And what about you?" Beckett asks, perceptively. "Why are you here, Colonel? You've barely been near Rodney since we got here."

Sheppard scowls. Carson can see the man's defences go up; the way his back stiffens, his jaw clenching. "I've spent most of my time in the infirmary."

He persists, regardless. "Not when Rodney's been awake."

"It's bad timing, that's all." Sheppard suddenly rises from his chair, picking up the tray. "I've got to go."

This Carson highly doubts, since there is little to do on the military base, nobody to debrief to. But he doesn't question it, recognising that the Colonel has shut down, and he will get nothing more out of him.

He watches the other man deposit his tray at the serving hatch, then head out of the room. Sheppard is not the casual, relaxed, easy-going figure Carson had hoped he would return to, after seeing McKay. If anything, he thinks, ruefully, the situation is worse that it was on Atlantis.

Two men, both his friends, both behaving like jackasses.

And Beckett doesn't think he can fix it.

* * *

_McKay_

Rodney is released from the infirmary, but advised to stay on base, 'just in case.' He protested that given their location - in the middle of an ice field, miles from civilisation - there isn't anywhere he could go. Beckett had only frowned, with his perfected 'I'm not in the mood for this' expression.

Sheppard is chatting with some of the soldiers stationed here. Comparing war stories, McKay assumes. He managed to wheedle the information out of a passing lieutenant, and now takes pains to choose a route which will avoid a confrontation with the Colonel.

Beckett is in deep debate with Doctor James, exchanging ideas with the same quick fire retort Rodney can have with Radek. Besides McKay thinks he's spent enough time around medical practioners for a long while yet, and though Carson is a friend, the Scot keeps looking at him like he's a miracle, like he's returned from the dead.

In a way, he almost has. And not in the way Beckett thinks. Not in the obvious way, although he's read the reports of his rescue from the Antarctic base; shattered bones, head injury, internal bleeding, hypothermia. He shouldn't have survived.

Rodney tries to visualise the way he must have looked, half-frozen and bloody, but it isn't real to him.

Besides, his return to life happened earlier.

"McKay."

He turns. Sam Carter stands in the doorway, a faintly bemused look on her face. "I never thought I'd find you here," she says.

McKay looks round the room. Two spaces knocked through into one, and designated as a gym, a means of productive time wasting for the men on base. Four treadmills, three bikes, a number of weight lifting contraptions he can't identify, and a space for mats.

He stands in the middle of it all and shrugs. "Neither did I."

"So?" she asks, stepping into the room. "Thinking of taking up some physical exercise?"

He shudders. "God, no." Sam smiles, and he adds quickly: "Because I don't need to, of course. I'm fit enough without wasting hours in one of these places."

Her smirk develops into a full-blown grin. "Alright. So why come here? I thought you'd want to be catching up with Doctor Beckett or Colonel Sheppard."

McKay thinks for a moment on how best to answer her. Whether to explain that he has spent so much time over the past few months being on his own, surviving on his own, that getting thrown back into a communal existence isn't a comfortable experience. That hated phrase, 'needing space.' Even the small number of military stationed on base are enough to make him feel claustrophobic.

There is another reason, a reason why he chose this room in particular to hide in.

"When I was on the Daedalus," he begins, "I had time to think about, well, a variety of things. About things I've never done."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Like… like the Inca Trail." He gestures wildly with one arm. "That's one of the top things to do before you die, isn't it?"

She nods. "Apparently."

"One of the engineers on Atlantis likes to climb mountains in his spare time. Before he left Earth he climbed Kilimanjaro, and next time he's back he's planning to do Everest Base camp."

"And you were thinking about these things?" she asks, sceptically.

"Yes! Because I've never climbed a mountain! Well," he corrects himself, "once, on a mission, but that was at gunpoint, not because I wanted to - and I've never been to any of the ones on Earth!"

"So you wanted to climb a mountain?"

"And unicycle!"

She laughs, sounding surprised. "Unicycling, McKay?"

"I wanted to do it when I was a kid," he excuses. "It looked cool. Little things. Like…" He stops, and waves an arm at his surroundings.

"Like going to the gym?"

He snaps his fingers. "Exactly. I've never been to one before. And then I _couldn't_. There was the one in the hospital, of course, the one my physiotherapist forced me to use, but it isn't the same equipment."

"And now?" Sam asks. "How is it?"

"Hideous." He pats the piece of equipment closest to him - something horrendously elaborate involving springs and ropes and thick black weights. "Instruments of torture. Why anyone would want to waste their life in one of these places is beyond me."

She grins. "I don't mind them. It's a good way of releasing adrenaline."

He snorts. "Then maybe you should be the one to join Ronon and Sheppard on their daily jog around Atlantis."

"That another thing you thought you'd missed out on?"

"And yet I have no desire to take it up." He pauses, remembering where they are, and who he's speaking to. "I'm rambling. What do you want?"

"Would you believe the pleasure of your company?"

"No. Unless things have changed dramatically since I was last here."

She looks at him with an odd expression, and says obliquely: "Maybe _you've_ changed." Then her tone changes, becomes more direct, less light. "I wanted to see if you had made up your mind."

McKay moves to one of the bench presses, and drops onto the seat. "About what?" he asks.

"Whether you're going back to Atlantis."

It's like she's sucker-punched him, dropped him to the floor. For a brief moment McKay can't breathe, and has to swallow the lump in his throat. He doesn't say a word; can't, too stunned at her perception. Sam is his intellectual equivalent in the SGC, but he doesn't _know_ her, they're not close, although he might not-so-secretly like to be. Theirs is a relationship of flirtation and insults, and nothing deeper.

Is he that obvious?

Sam seems to mistake his silence for confusion, and, taking a seat on an opposite bench, explains: "You know you have a place there, don't you?"

_Oh_.

He clears his throat, his voice suddenly scratchy and hoarse. "I had assumed. That's why you did this, isn't it?"

Sam's eyes widen, impossibly blue. "You don't actually believe that? Come on, Rodney!" She sounds angry, but he doesn't know why.

"I'm not an idiot," he says, then laughs, bitterly, because isn't that the _point_? "The Tok'ra aren't on call. They don't come for just anyone, no matter how many debts they might owe your father."

Two pink spots appear on her cheeks. "You _are_ an idiot," she tells him, sharply. "Dr Zelenka was working on ideas before he even found the Ancient healing device, and he came to me as soon as he thought he had more than just a theory."

"Because they need me," he shoots back. "Antarctica being a case in point."

"An exception," she corrects, her tone heated. "Atlantis has survived without you for months, McKay. Give your ego a rest and accept the facts."

He folds under her wrath, insecurities crushed beneath logic. He stares at her, heat rising in his face and eyes suddenly stinging.

"It was only a prototype," she continues. "If it hadn't been for you playing the martyr we wouldn't have tried it for another month, at least, but you forced our hand. Believe it or not, people care about you, in spite of your winning personality. It wasn't because we needed your brain."

He dips his head, mostly to hide his eyes, and grumbles half-heartedly: "Or my dashing good looks."

"Never a factor for me," she says, grinning wickedly.

He scowls, but doesn't respond. He thinks about his behaviour in Atlantis after waking up injured, about leaving without saying goodbye. He thinks about the way he tried to shut everyone out, only to discover they were more stubborn than he ever gave them credit for.

"So," he says, eventually, "why do you think I won't go back to Atlantis?"

"I didn't say you wouldn't go back," Sam corrects, "I said you hadn't made up your mind. And you can say no. You can stay on Earth, if you want."

He lifts his head to find Sam watching him, concern and compassion in her eyes. She plays the guilt card, and he confesses in a rush: "It wasn't that bad. Being back. I thought I wouldn't be able to… that nothing would be as…" he stumbles, "it wouldn't be the same as Atlantis. And I was right, it wasn't. But it wasn't like I thought it would be. I was actually beginning to enjoy myself."

"Well you are allowed," she says, dryly. Then her face changes, subtly, and she says: "I never asked."

"Asked what?"

"How you were doing?"

"Yes, well…" he coughs, "I wasn't being particularly…"

"Friendly?" she suggests. "You had an excuse."

"Hmm." He leaves the comment untouched. "Do you think I'm considering staying on Earth?"

"You wouldn't be the first person to consider turning their back on this." She sighs softly, sadly. "Many people have, and most weren't injured like you were."

"Have you ever thought about it?" he asks, hesitantly.

"Oh, hundreds of times, for different reasons." She shrugs. "I can't. Maybe, sometime, if things are different… but not yet."

"Have you come close?"

"Once." Her eyes are bright. "A while ago."

"Sorry," he apologises. "I shouldn't have asked."

She blinks, then looks at him. "I asked you."

"Touché," Rodney says, dryly.

"So?" Sam presses. "Are you thinking about it?"

He sighs. The truth is he has been trying to avoid thinking about it, as though he can put off the decision indefinitely.

Leaving Atlantis ranks as one of the most emotionally traumatic experiences of his life. But he surprised himself, and survived it. More than that - he _enjoys_ his new life, and it is only just starting, and he is loathe to give up on it so early.

Besides, although there might be a place for his brain on Atlantis McKay isn't certain there is room for anything else. He has burnt bridges - intentionally, however foolish his actions - and he isn't sure they can be repaired.

There is movement in the doorway. McKay and Carter both look up at the same time and turn.

Sheppard is standing just outside the door, an odd expression on his face that McKay can't read. His eyes are dark and shuttered.

"Sorry. Didn't know it was in use."

"That's alright, Colonel," Sam begins, "we weren't using…"

Sheppard turns, and disappears down the corridor without another word.

McKay sighs, and twists so his attention is on the machine next to him, and Carter cannot see his face.

"What was that?"

"What?"

"Don't pretend you don't know, Rodney!" Sam steps around the machine, so McKay cannot turn away without making it obvious. "You and Sheppard! Have you spoken more than three words to each other since he got here?"

"I've been recuperating…" he protests.

"Oh, please!" She shakes her head, and says insistently: "Talk, McKay. You owe me, remember."

McKay grimaces, but he can't deny it. "When I left Atlantis I wasn't exactly…" He pauses, hating himself for his behaviour. "I wasn't in the best frame of mind. Some things were said."

"Ah." Sam winces. "So this is an argument?"

"A little more than that," he admits.

She sighs. "I might be telling this to the wrong person, but it always helps to apologise."

"I did," he says, frustrated.

"When?"

"I sent him a message… oh." McKay pauses, counting the weeks. He suddenly feels nauseous. "He never got it."

"What?"

"I sent it to the SGC for the next Daedalus run but he won't have received it, not yet." He groans, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "I'm an idiot! I just assumed Sheppard had seen it, I mean I knew it wouldn't be enough, but I thought… dammit!"

"So I guess that explains it," she says.

He shakes his head. "No. No, no, it doesn't." He runs through theories in his head, settling on the most obvious and the most painful. "It doesn't explain anything. Why is he here if he never got it?"

"Maybe," Sam suggests, "you should give him the message now."


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's Notes: My sincere apologies for not updating sooner. Work, job applications and family commitments claimed most of my free time this week. Unfortunately I can't see next week being any different, particularly since I start a long distance writing course on Tuesday. Still, at least this is a particularly angsty chapter...

* * *

__Sheppard_

There is only an hour before the helicopter arrives to make the trip to the local airport, and from the airport a plane will complete the journey to the SGC. Sheppard goes to his room to pack - although he barely has anything, it at least gives him an excuse of why he is avoiding McKay.

The base is cold, despite a heating system which attempts to warm its occupants a few degrees more than the outside air. Sheppard is wearing three layers, and zips up his jacket to his chin, shoving his hands inside his pockets.

Few people are permanently stationed on the base. It is of no strategic value, and mostly serves as a central location for teams of scientists exploring the surrounding geography. Its corridors seem deserted, quiet, without the ever present hum of machinery and computers that breathed life into Atlantis. It feels oppressive, and he is glad when he gets to his room; a tiny, concrete space, with a window on one wall and a bed on the other.

He misses Atlantis. Her glittering silver spires, reaching up into the sky; the endless horizon of the ocean around them, the balconies and piers which stretched out over the water. Fresh air. He has only been on base for a few days, but with the outside world offering nothing more exciting than ice, Sheppard has been trapped within the confines of the ugly building. He has completed several tours, and taken a run through its corridors three times. He has hung out in the canteen, and tried every meal on offer, and has even starting combining food to test the result. He considered a snowball fight, but gave this up. The air outside is too cold, and he has no one to try and beat. Carson is consumed with the medics and with Carter, still studying the healing device.

He wishes he had a snowboard.

His bag is sat on the floor, open and partially emptied. Crossing over to it, Sheppard picks it up and slings it onto the bed, then starts tossing the few items he has unpacked back into it. A change of clothes, War and Peace. The jacket he wears is borrowed, SGC issued.

Turning, Sheppard approaches the desk, sat beside the bed and bearing only an angle-poise lamp and a laptop.

There is a CD lying on the desk's surface.

He pauses, momentarily thrown, not recognising the disc. There is a note stuck to it. A scrap of paper, marred by a familiar hand.

_I'm an ass._

Frowning, Sheppard reaches out and puts the CD in the laptop sat on his desk. The computer is a temporary present from the military stationed here, a way of him keeping in contact with Atlantis if Elizabeth calls, and a way of avoiding the boredom of being trapped in a world of concrete and ice with nowhere to escape to.

He has played fifty six games of Tetris since he got here. Not that he's counting.

There is a single file on the disc. Sheppard double clicks the icon, and waits as a media player opens. Hits alt and enter to make it full screen.

McKay's image appears, frozen. He is dressed in casual clothes, a long sleeved tee and a shirt over it. In the background can be seen a window, a bookshelf, the edge of a countertop.

A message from Earth, Sheppard realises, with a jolt. A message Rodney recorded before Antarctica, before any of this.

He reaches out and hits play.

"_Hello, Colonel."_ McKay waves, clearly nervous. _"Ah, I'm not exactly sure when you'll receive this. Post between the Milky Way and Pegasus isn't exactly next-day delivery, and I missed the Daedalus on it's last visit, so I guess this will have to wait for the next run. By which point I'll have started my new job, and I'll have moved, so I'll need to give you all my new address. I'm sure the SGC will have it, though. In case I forget."_

Sheppard pauses the video for a moment. The room feels cold, much colder than before, and he hugs the jacket closer around himself.

Play.

The scientist coughs. _"Oh, yes, the job. It's a professorship at a university. I'll get my own research graduates, have control over the course, my own office. Almost the same as Atlantis, I guess, although not…"_ He breaks off, and ducks his head.

Sheppard doesn't move from his awkward position at the desk, hunched over the small screen.

"_I'm not very good at this. Hell, you should know that by now. So, I'll… I'll just come right out and say it."_ Rodney clears his throat, then lifts his head to stare at the camera. _"It has recently come to my attention that I may have behaved less than, ah, positively before I left Atlantis."_ He hesitates. _"Actually, I knew that already. I was just trying to avoid having to think about it. But I, well, I hadn't thought about what the impact would be. That's my fault. I'm an idiot."_ He snorts. _"That will be the one and only time you will ever hear me say that, Colonel, so make a note."_

He hits pause again, his throat dry. How many times has he kidded McKay about saying those words? As though the man's ego would let him? And now Rodney has, and he should be thinking about all the ways he can rub it in his face - tape it, give it to Zelenka to broadcast across the lab - but he doesn't laugh.

Sheppard pushes himself up from the desk with sudden violence, turning away from the screen and McKay's face, utterly still and staring at the camera.

"Of course," he mutters, kicking the bed. "_Now_ he says it. Like this changes anything!"

He breaks off, glaring at the screen. "So who was it, McKay? Who roped you into this? Elizabeth? Carson?"

The scientist's image doesn't reply.

Reluctantly, both hands curled into fists and pressed against his sides, Sheppard returns to the laptop and hits play.

"_The point is," _McKay continues, oblivious to Sheppard's anger,_ "before I left, I may have said some things… Actually, I know I _did_ say some things I shouldn't have. They weren't true. You know, about…_" The Canadian gestures vaguely, his hands a pale blur across the screen. _"About it being your fault. It wasn't."_

He swallows, his right hand closing tightly around the computer mouse.

"_It wasn't your fault the mission went sour, and it wasn't your fault that I was injured, alright?"_ McKay stares intently at the screen. _"And you'd better listen, Sheppard, because this is _me_ talking, not that self-pitying excuse for a human being that was snivelling in the infirmary on Atlantis._" He takes a deep breath. _"What happened is this. You were down, and we don't leave people behind, as your military mantra keeps reminding me. So I hauled your sorry ass to the 'gate, but our hosts apparently hadn't had enough, and so they shot me in the back. Or the hip and leg, if you want to be accurate."_

Rodney looks down at his lap, his jaw tight. _"When you asked me to leave… well, that was one of your less than realistic ideas, because really, not going to happen. You have this mindset where you think you're less valuable to Atlantis than anyone else and it's just bull,"_ he finishes, his voice rising with anger.

Sheppard shivers, tugging his jacket a little closer around his chest. His fury is starting to fade. He remembers the feel of hands against his neck, the panicked voice in his ear, _"if you'd like to stop bleeding to death…"_

"_Go, McKay."_

Pleading with his friend, looking up into wide blue eyes and realising he was the least scared of the two.

"_Go."_

Because he wasn't going to survive, not a wound like this, not with the blood that was staining McKay's hands and arms and clothes.

"_Go."_

And McKay looking down at him and twisting his lip and saying: _"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"_

"_It's just bull,"_ the recording says, and Sheppard sighs, shaky and quiet.

"Listen to your own advice, McKay," he says, softly.

"_Anyway…"_ Rodney calms, his voice dropping in volume. _"You are… you are… oh god, I hate this touchy-feely rubbish. I'm not good at it. Carson, maybe, the man blubbers if one of his own test mice die, but I'm not like that._" He shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. _"Your friendship with me - it is that, I suppose - it means, well… I would rather it didn't come to an end. It's been enjoyable, one of the more enjoyable parts to Atlantis, actually. And I don't have… well, I'm not good at… not many people are…"_ He breaks off, and scowls. _"You know what I mean. Friends. I consider you one of mine. I just hope I haven't wrecked that."_

Sheppard doesn't reply.

"_So, that's… well, that's all I had to say."_ McKay makes an odd face. _"Don't feel obligated to reply. I'm not good at long distance relationships - just ask my sister - and I've, well…"_ he coughs, _"things aren't exactly easy, right now."_

And he means more than physical distance; Sheppard knows that, and he bites his lip and thinks about how he has spent the past few days deliberately avoiding McKay in a building as small as his old high school.

"_I'd wish you luck, but somehow that seems inappropriate. Luck doesn't even begin to cover what…"_ The scientist breaks off, clearly struggling for words. _"Ronon would probably say, don't get dead, or something equally caveman. But he'd be right."_

Another pause. Sheppard's jaw begins to ache, he has it clenched that hard.

"_So… don't get dead."_ McKay takes a deep breath, and something of a mask appears to fall across his face, his attitude changing, becoming more formal and stilted. _"Say hello to everybody for me. Tell Carson and Radek I apologise. I'm sure it will make Radek's month."_ He glances to the side, at something Sheppard cannot see. _"What? Oh. Dinner. Right."_ Rodney looks back at the camera apologetically, leaning forward, his hand reaching out to the screen. _"Sorry. Demanding cat. If I'd known how demanding when I…"_

The video suddenly ends, abruptly, cutting McKay off mid-ramble.

Sheppard stares at the blank screen, feeling the coldest he has since stepping through the Stargate and arriving in Antarctica.

I'm an idiot, he thinks.

No. They are both idiots. More than once Teyla has accused them - sometimes separately, often together - of being stubborn, hot headed.

But to come to this…

And she tried to tell him. They all tried to tell him, one way or another. Teyla was the bravest, the most direct. Confronting him in the peak of his fury, and he had been - to use McKay's words - an ass. Ronon, openly glowering, barely saying a word off-world or on. Carson and Zelenka, trying to bring up the subject subtly, trying to slip mention of McKay into a conversation only to be ignored, or rudely dismissed. Elizabeth, struggling to follow Teyla's lead, opting for one to one conversations in her office, but he would change the subject, make it clear he wasn't talking.

All their attempts to make him see sense and he had rejected every one.

"_Rodney was injured because he stopped to save your life. And I am glad he did, even if you are not."_

Why the hell couldn't he see that?

Because of McKay, Sheppard realises, leaning forward, propping his elbows on the table and sinking his head into his hands.

"_This is all your damn fault…"_

He should have been quicker, should have seen that the Anaracians weren't to be trusted. He had let his guard down, and as a result his team had been surprised.

And McKay had been injured.

"_This is all your fault…"_

Injured and afraid and lashing out because that is what McKay _does_, and Sheppard has known the scientist long enough to know that he has zero social skills, to see the anger as only a symptom of McKay's pain, a messed up method of protecting himself…

Because hell, Sheppard thinks, isn't that what he's been doing? Giving everyone else the same treatment?

Shutting everyone out. And he should have seen through that.

Sheppard pushes back his chair abruptly and rises to his feet, heading for the door. His bag and the laptop are forgotten.

Outside the corridor is still empty, but he moves quickly and with purpose. He can't predict where McKay is - the scientist is as good at avoiding confrontation as Sheppard - but he can seek out the people who might.

The hospital is closest, and sure enough, Beckett is perching on a bed, chatting to one of the other doctors, a pretty woman sitting behind her desk. The Scot looks up at the intrusion, and he blinks at Sheppard in surprise.

"Colonel? Is it time to leave already? I was just…"

"Where's McKay?" he demands, quickly. He needs to apologise to Carson, but at a later point. Right now he has only one goal.

He doesn't get the reaction he is expecting. Carson's face falls, his expression one of confusion.

"He's not here."

"I can tell that!" Sheppard retorts, readying to leave, glancing toward the doors. "Have you seen him? Is he with Carter?"

"You don't understand. He's not on the base." Beckett's eyes are bright and wide. "He didn't speak with you?"

"No," he says, repeating: "Where is he?"

"He's gone, Colonel," Carson says, his voice full of regret. "Rodney's gone home."

* * *

_McKay_

Rodney returns home to find Spot has broken into his bedroom, and is now sleeping atop a fur-strewn blanket, curled into a ball.

He raises his black head when Rodney opens the door, and opens one eye lazily, as if to ask, 'and where have _you_ been?'

McKay doesn't reply. He drops his bag on the floor and then heads to the kitchen, stomach growling.

The journey home was long and uncomfortable. Hitching an early getaway on a helicopter intended for cargo transport, he had sat amongst empty boxes and flat packed cardboard crates. Switching his plane ticket had been simple, but had involved changing at several non-descript airports where service amounted to little more than a week-old sandwich and vending machine coffee. During the thirty six hour trip he had not spoken to anyone, except when prompted, lost in his own thoughts. Now he has arrived back to his apartment, smelling of stale sweat that is not all his own, his eyeballs itchy and tongue thick.

He opens the fridge door to discover curdled milk and a new life-form growing in the remains of a Chinese take-away. Disgustedly, McKay tosses the items in the trash, the bread following suit without him bothering to open the bag.

Dinner is microwavable noodles in a brown salty sauce, which isn't what he had spent the taxi ride from the airport dreaming of, but at least it tastes slightly more like food than the reconstituted hash served on his last flight. And he _likes_ processed food.

McKay watches the glass plate turn within the microwave, encased in a warm glow, and tries not to think about leaving Antarctica.

Carter found him, of course. She guessed at his decision, and came to confront him while he was packing stolen candy into his bag.

"_Going somewhere?"_

"_Home,"_ he had answered. _"I'm not needed here anymore."_

"_I'm guessing you're not travelling as far as Pegasus."_

He had glanced at her, and seen an expression of sadness, regret, and something he couldn't quite identify, but he thought might have been envy.

"_I've made my choice, if that's what you mean. If you've come to try and get me to change my mind…"_

"_No,"_ she had said, quickly. _"Just to say goodbye, McKay."_

"_You're not going to tell me I'm making a bad decision?"_

"_How can I do that? It's your choice. I can't tell you what's right for you."_

"_This is,"_ he had replied, confidently.

All a pretence, of course. Rodney isn't sure he has done the right thing, isn't sure he hasn't made a terrible mistake.

Approaching it logically, he had written a list. The pros of life on Atlantis versus life on Earth.

Earth. A new job, new possibilities. Minions. A well equipped lab.

Atlantis. An entire galaxy full of possibilities. Many minions. The best equipped lab he would ever work in.

Earth. A cat. Free time. Dating. Friends.

McKay supposes Maggie and Brian constitute friends; or, at the very least, the promise that he isn't entirely socially useless, that he can build relationships with others.

Atlantis…

Six months ago, he would have been able to fill in the blank.

Not now. Bridges burnt.

Right?

The noodles follow the way of the milk and the bread, and disappear into the trash.

There is a sign on the fridge door, paper tinted pink bearing words written in a spidery hand.

_I wasn't certain how long you would be gone, so I took the liberty of buying more food for your cat. The box is under the sink. Six dollars. You can pay me when you get back. M. Thirsk._

He leaves it up there, as a reminder to thank his neighbour for taking care of Spot at such short notice.

Sam said Carson and Sheppard were there because they wanted to be. McKay has convinced himself she is wrong.

Because it doesn't make sense otherwise. He was an ass - he hates himself, with savage spite, when he thinks of how he behaved back on Atlantis.

He could delude himself, pretend that his belated message to Sheppard would be enough, that this is that easy to fix.

He can't. He's not _that_ much of an idiot.

At least he thanked Carter.

"_Well,"_ she had shrugged, _"I hardly did anything. Radek did the hard work."_

There, again, Radek. Not Zelenka. _"I doubt that. The man isn't that good."_

"_You should give your people more credit, Rodney. If they weren't geniuses in their own right they wouldn't be on Atlantis."_

"_Well they're not my people anymore, so I don't have to worry about their sensibilities."_ He had paused, and looked down at his feet. _"You'll thank him for me, won't you?"_

"_I'll pass the message on. But you could write and tell him yourself."_

"_Hmm. Maybe."_ Although he intends to; just not in the touchy-feely, open and honest way Sam might imagine. It isn't him.

Neither are goodbyes. He hates them, isn't good at them, and was thankful when Carter appeared to realise this.

He had turned to pick up his bag, when she had touched him on the shoulder, leant forward as he had turned back, and kissed him on the cheek.

"_Take care of yourself, Rodney."_

"_You too," he had replied, with conviction, blushing at the kiss. "And…"_ He had paused, unable to find adequate words. Ummed, and rubbed a hand across his forehead.

"_Now you say, thank you, Sam."_ She smiled.

"_Thank you. I…"_ And he had swallowed, his eyesight suddenly blurred. _"You… I wouldn't… you know… ah, if you know the appropriate words to say right now, that would be good…"_

"_You saved my life," _she completed for him, _"and now I owe you."_

"_I never agreed to that,"_ he had protested, anxious to change the tone of the conversation. _"I came to Antarctica, didn't I?"_

"_I suppose that makes us nearly even."_

And then she had led him down the corridors, towards the waiting helicopter, and didn't mention Sheppard once.

McKay shucks clothes as he heads to the bathroom, leaving his shirt on the arm of the couch and his socks in a heap beside the television.

The water is hot, and he stands in the shower while it washes away the stench of airports and fast food, and pounds into his shoulders and back.

He's done the right thing, hasn't he?

Carson was coming out of the infirmary when Rodney had only been a short distance from the exit. Part of him had winced at the sight of the physician, not wanting to perform another goodbye, but there was another part - deeper and quieter - that was glad he had this chance.

"_Where are you going?"_

He said nothing, allowed his expression and the bag he was carrying to answer for him.

Carson's face had fallen, struck by shock and grief and anger. _"And you thought you'd just sneak off?"_

"_Hardly sneaking, Carson…"_

"_Without saying a word?"_

"_I was going to phone…"_

"_Again?"_ the Scot demanded, hurt. _"First Atlantis, now here? Selfish bugger! Have you even spoken to the Colonel?"_

He hates himself for lying to Beckett, for lying to his friend at the one moment he wanted to be honest.

"_Yes. We talked."_

Carter had shifted uncomfortably beside him, but - thank god - stayed silent.

"_Oh."_ Carson's anger deflated then, minutely. _"Well, if you think you could just…_

"_Look, Carson,"_ McKay had interrupted, quickly, _"I really don't want to get into an argument with you. Not right now. I'm just - I'm sorry, alright? For everything."_ His words had fallen over each other in the rush to get out before his instincts kicked in, and he closed himself off. _"I realise I've been a complete ass, and I'm sorry for that, especially after everything you've done for me. But I can't go back to Atlantis. Don't ask me to explain, just - I can't. But I'd like to think, well, I wouldn't want to, you know…"_

And there his words had failed him.

Beckett had looked back at him, anger replaced by the same mix of sadness and regret as in Carter's eyes; and then the Scot had taken a sudden step forward and wrapped his arms around Rodney's chest.

"_Take care of yourself,"_ had been mumbled into his ear.

McKay caught a brief whiff of aftershave, and then Beckett had pulled back, his face bright red and his gaze fixed on the floor.

"_Oh god," _McKay had heard himself exclaim, _"You're not going to…"_

"_Just go!"_ Carson had snapped, fiercely. _"Before you ruin the moment, Rodney."_

And then Carter had whispered in his ear, _"Better listen, McKay_," and he had followed her lead and headed down the corridor, toward the helicopter, leaving Beckett behind.

He had _lied_.

Lied to Beckett.

To his friend.

And he left without saying a word to Sheppard that hadn't been pre-recorded. He was too afraid of confrontation, of facing the rejection he knew was inevitable, because apologies aren't enough.

McKay leans his forehead against the wall.

He hates himself.


	21. Chapter 21

_Author's Notes: Apologies for the delay. I was distracted by Joe Flanigan, who I met at the weekend at Collectormania, and the last episode of the Sopranos, which gave me no closure at all. Damn you David Chase! Now I have to wait months!_

_

* * *

_

_McKay_

Rodney sleeps for sixteen hours.

He wakes to sunlight and a growling stomach. Spot is prowling around the bottom of the mattress impatiently, apparently sharing the sentiment. Reluctantly, McKay drags himself out of the warmth of his bed and heads to the kitchen.

He feeds Spot first, a silver packet he doesn't recognise, but proclaims itself as tuna and cod. Real pieces of fish lie amidst jelly, and he scowls.

"Don't get used to this," he warns, as Spot begins to eat. "She might have spoilt you, but it's back to sixty percent ash tomorrow."

He is ignored, so turns away to make coffee.

Real coffee. Rodney leaves the machine to work, and uses the time to have another shower. Short and hasty, just to wash him clean of the last vestiges of sleep. He steps out and scrubs a towel across his hair roughly - as much of it as there is - then pulls on loose jeans and a shirt and goes back to the kitchen.

The floor is cold beneath his bare feet, and he doesn't take long over a belated breakfast. Coffee and two pop tarts.

There is little else in the cupboards. Driven by the desire for fresh air, feeling strangely confined within the apartment, McKay puts on shoes and a jacket and heads out, stuffing keys and wallet into his pockets.

He hasn't given any thought to how he will explain his disappearance, or his miraculous return to full health. The SGC were unhelpful in their lack of suggestions. Fortunately, the desk in the lobby is empty, and McKay hurries out before Brian can come back from his break.

Besides, he isn't certain he's up to meeting people yet. Events in Antarctica have been a shock to McKay's system. He has been dragged out of the comfortable existence he resigned himself to, pulled back into the fray, almost died - _again_ - and made the decision to leave that life behind.

A decision of his own free will, not imposed on him by his own physical limitations.

He wants time to adjust, to come to terms with his choice. It isn't exactly that he _doubts_ that he has done the right thing - but McKay wants to be certain, before he has to lie to anyone.

Mid-week, and the streets outside are quiet. With children in school and commuters in their offices, McKay shares the sidewalk with a handful of elderly couples and a few young mothers pushing babies in prams.

He takes the walk slowly, enjoying the feeling of movement without pain. The supermarket is only at the other end of the block, but previously the journey there would have been a trial, particularly when loaded down with bags. It takes him half the usual time before he reaches his destination. The supermarket is themed in its company colours, blue and orange, and he takes a basket and heads down the aisles.

Feeling restless, McKay tosses items into the basket at increasingly random intervals. Milk, bread, chocolate, ice cream, apples, cheese, tomato sauce. He searches for something to occupy him, and remembering his list of goals, he grabs a handful of recipe leaflets offered free at the end of an aisle, then tracks down the ingredients.

There is an elderly woman in the queue ahead of him at the till. He guesses her age at ninety; bowed shoulders and white hair, she counts out each coin and chats with the assistant while behind her, McKay shifts impatiently and tries not to mutter insults beneath his breath.

Before Antarctica, he would have been more willing to relax. The difference doesn't go unnoticed. There is no time limit, no compelling reason why he must get back to his apartment now, this moment, no time to wait for lonely old women and purse counting. Yet now that he is not forced to slow down, McKay finds himself wanting to return to the speed and haste of before, the panic he is used to.

He takes several deep breaths, and counts to thirty.

On the way back to the apartment he stops at Starbucks, and picks up more coffee beans and an oversized chocolate muffin in a paper bag. Struggling to hold it all, McKay again passes through the lobby without meeting anyone.

He spends the afternoon attempting to make pasta from scratch, following the free instructions and treating the experience as a science experiment. One which ultimately fails, abysmally. Unable to focus, he pays little attention to measurements or consistency and the result is a stodgy, barely edible mess.

At least, he tells himself, it is the right colour.

Two research papers sit on the countertop. Pulling up a stool, McKay leans over them with a red pen and tries to finish the marking. After thirty minutes he has missed several mathematical errors and the student's complete misunderstanding of a basics physics principal, a fault which should have resulted in thick underlining and insults scribbled into the space between paragraphs.

Giving up, Rodney tosses the paper to one side.

The living room is as he left it. The table is strewn with journals and notes and paperwork he is in the middle of reading. Several dvds lie beside the television, their boxes open and mixed up. McKay clears a space amongst the chaos and drops onto the couch, flipping the cable on.

He feels restless, and hops through the channels idly, hoping for something to hold his attention. Spot appears in the bedroom doorway, and crosses the floor to jump up onto the sofa and curl up beside his feet.

McKay comes close to questioning his inability to relax, but he can't bring himself to face his own self-doubt. His regret at the way he handled his departure, both from Atlantis and Pegasus.

He wonders what Radek is working on. Whether Teyla is on the mainland, or training, perhaps with Ronon.

An argument is being conducted on the television screen, loud and fast and angry. McKay recognises the show, and settles on the choice, laying the remote to one side. It is one of his many guilty pleasures, and it helps that he finds the female lead very attractive - even if she is brunette.

"_Let's make sure the dining room's open for a late lunch, and we need to confirm the number of rooms they'll need."_

"_Yes, I have all of this written down on a notepad right next to my self-help book, 'Why don't people think you know what the hell you're doing?'"_

McKay snorts, and makes a mental note to use the quote at some future point. Preferably while demeaning a grad student. He likes the French character, appreciating his sense of sarcasm and bite.

There is a knock at the door.

He frowns, glancing at his watch. Too early to be Brian, although he wonders whether he was spotted returning from the supermarket.

Slowly, reluctantly, McKay gets up from the sofa, still surprised when his leg doesn't twinge in protest. He has become so used to compensating for its weakness that it is taking time to adjust back into full function.

Curled up into the corner of the couch, Spot yawns, and stretches out so his body takes up the rest of the sofa space.

McKay crosses the apartment floor, and fumbles at the lock, finally managing to open the door.

Sheppard stands in the corridor, wearing leather jacket and jeans, a holdall slung over one shoulder.

"McKay," he drawls, as though there is nothing unusual in his appearance.

Rodney realises his mouth is open, and shuts it, abruptly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice welcome," Sheppard says, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I meant…" He breaks off, flustered. "You should be on the Daedalus."

"It's having some routine maintenance done. Should take about a week. I figured it was a good time for a vacation. Elizabeth's idea but," Sheppard shrugs, "it seemed like a good one. It's been a while."

"Oh," McKay says, at a loss.

"Three years since my last holiday." He nods at the apartment. "Going to invite me in?"

"Oh. Right." McKay blinks, feeling stupid, then moves aside.

Sheppard walks past him, long legged and casual, but there is an undercurrent of something McKay can't put his finger on. A tension, the sense that not all is quite right. The Colonel drops his bag in the corner and looks around the space. "Nice. Not like your quarters on Atlantis. Less cluttered."

McKay doesn't respond, stunned into silence by Sheppard's arrival. His mind refuses to function, and he can only watch as the other man inspects the apartment, checking the dvds, the large television, moving to look out of the window and pausing to absently pet Spot.

What does he want? McKay doesn't buy the claim of a vacation for a moment, and even if it were true, he can't see why Sheppard would want to spend his time here. The town isn't a tourist hotspot.

More from a lack of conversation, than the need to be a good host, McKay asks: "Do you want a drink?"

"A beer?"

"I've no beer," he says, suddenly feeling foolish. "Alcohol was banned. Y'know, painkillers. Besides, it's a social drink and there's no one here to share it with. Not that I don't have anybody here, you understand, but they're not the beer drinking type, and…" He stops. Sheppard is staring at him and smirking. Lamely, he finishes: "Coke, apple juice, or coffee?"

"Coffee. It was a long flight."

"Sure." McKay heads into the kitchen, and is aware of Sheppard following. He hears a sudden intake of breath, and a startled:

"Did a flour mill explode in here?"

"Oh." He glances around the room, at the powdery white smears across the tiles and countertop. "I was baking."

Again Sheppard's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. "Baking?"

Rodney scowls, and turns towards the coffee machine. "So?" he says, hesitantly. "Why are you here?"

"I told you. Vacation."

"But why here?"

Sheppard shrugs. "Call it curiosity. Besides, it was either here or California."

"California would be warmer." The coffee machine clicks. McKay pulls the jug out and pours two mugs' worth. Steam rises and mists across the kitchen window.

Silence descends. Rodney wraps both hands around the coffee mug and stares at it, trying to think of words to fill the dead air.

"So… good journey?"

"Better than yours," Sheppard says, dryly.

McKay winces. "I didn't see the point in hanging about." He expects a comeback, an angry retort, but is disappointed.

"Carson's gone to Scotland for a few days, to visit family."

He nods. "His mother, right." It makes sense, explains why only Sheppard has turned up on his doorstep.

He drains the coffee cup, the liquid still hot and burning his throat.

"Eaten yet?" Sheppard asks, suddenly.

It takes McKay several moments before he realises what has been asked of him; several more before he remembers to speak. "Yes, actually." Then he corrects himself, thinking of the stodgy pasta. "Well, not really. I am hungry."

At one point that might have prompted a sarcastic comment, a gentle tease, but all Sheppard says is: "I'm starving, let's go."

Rodney realises he misses that banter.

He takes a moment to put the empty cups by the sink, to flip the lights. The Colonel waits at the door, expectantly, and after a moment McKay follows, pausing only to grab his jacket and wallet.

"So where are we going?"

"Oh." He hasn't thought that far ahead. He hasn't been to any of the local restaurants, and all he can think of is the Chinese he gets take-out from, and Starbucks, which is probably closed, and doesn't constitute formal dining anyway. Then he remembers seeing an Italian a few doors down from the bar where he met Suzanne for drinks. He had considered the place suitable for a second date, if they ever had one.

"Pizza?"

"Sounds good. They don't deliver to Pegasus."

Brian is sat in the lobby reception, and looks up from his comic to wave at McKay. The gesture falters when he sees Sheppard, and the boy drops his hand even as McKay waves back.

"Friend of yours?" Sheppard asks.

"An acquaintance," McKay replies, flushing. He feels oddly protective over the relationship he has with Brian. Theirs is an unusual friendship, and Rodney realises he is not comfortable with his two worlds colliding like this. He wonders if Sheppard will understand, or how he will explain things to Brian - whether he will have to lie, thereby becoming the manipulator Mrs Thirsk accused him of being.

The walk to the restaurant is filled with stilted conversation. McKay finds himself playing tour guide, pointing out the park and the school and the video store to Sheppard as though trying to justify his life here. Sheppard says little in response, except for some non-committal noises that don't help McKay. He wonders at the man's presence, churning scenarios over in his head while his mouth rambles on about nothing of importance.

Maybe he never got the video - although, no, McKay left it in Sheppard's quarters himself, and cannot imagine how it might have been lost. Perhaps the Colonel never watched the video - although again, this is unlikely.

Perhaps, McKay thinks, with a jolt, there was a fault on the disc, and it couldn't play, or was entirely blank, and all Sheppard had was a silver dvd bearing an odd post-stik legend. Though that doesn't explain why Sheppard is here now, and not aboard the Daedalus - why he has left Pegasus at all.

The uncomfortable atmosphere lasts through dinner, where it is Sheppard who carries the conversation.

"Elizabeth sends her regards. She's fine, busy, y'know. Spent the past week hammering out a treaty with some beetroot farmers…"

"Ronon has been training with some of the marines. Training _them_, is more accurate. You know Ronon. He doesn't play well with others…"

"Radek says he's found a way to prolong the power expectancy of the ZPM. Something to do with loss through a looped buffer…"

Short, impersonal extracts, during which Rodney picks at his pizza, and Sheppard drinks beer after beer. The stories lack detail or warmth, and though both men keep their voices low to ensure their conversation is private, there is little in their words that would interest an eavesdropper.

Every so often the conversation falters, and both men lapse into silence. During these instances McKay looks away, burying his attention in his food or an interesting water stain on the table surface. When he looks up he catches Sheppard staring at him, but the minute he does the other man turns his head away.

The meal is over in less than an hour. McKay has only had one beer, but due to his prolonged sobriety it is enough to leave him light-headed. Sheppard is finishing his fourth, and he slumps into the seat, idly tapping his plate with the fork.

They order the bill, after an unspoken agreement. The restaurant has started to fill up, mostly boisterous families or love-struck young couples. The room is noisy with chatter and clattering plates, but McKay feels like he is being stifled by an ominous cloud, smothering, pressing him down into the floor.

"I suppose," he says, glancing at Sheppard, "you'll want to stop the night?"

Sheppard shrugs. "I can get a hotel room if it's a problem."

"You can take the couch."

"Thanks."

In silence they file out, leaving the restaurant behind and stepping into the dusk outside. The night air is chilled, and Rodney shivers beneath his thin jacket. Street lights are on, bathing the sidewalk in a golden glow, and in windows of buildings above shadowy figures move behind blinds, carrying on with their daily lives.

They pass a liquor store. Sheppard glances at its lights, then back at McKay.

"You want a beer?"

McKay frowns, but isn't given the chance to answer. The Colonel disappears in without waiting, and Rodney can only follow, and wait glumly behind him as bottles are bought, and packed in brown paper bags.

He wants to warn Sheppard of the habit, to joke, but suspects the scenario would end badly.

They continue down the street, the silence stretching forth.

"So…" Sheppard drawls, scuffing his feet against the pavement. "I watched the video."

McKay swallows, feeling his heart rate quicken. "Oh," he says, lamely.

"It was pretty interesting."

"Look," he says, hastily, as his feet draw to a halt, "I meant what I said. All of that. The apology part especially. And I realise that it doesn't make any difference and that's fine, I understand, I was an idiot and more besides but you don't have to be forced to do anything if you don't want to - I assume Elizabeth sent you, right? So stop the night, have breakfast, then go to California. I'll speak to her, if you like. Some things can't be undone - if I could build a time machine I would, maybe steal one from Area 51, then I could stop us going to that damned planet," he takes a breath, then finishes: "If you want to hit me, could you get it over with?"

Sheppard stares at him, mouth slightly open. "Well…"

Rodney closes his eyes, and holds his breath. When nothing happens for a moment, he risks cracking one eye open. Sheppard is still staring at him.

"I'm not going to hit you, McKay."

"Oh." He relaxes a small fraction, and begins walking again.

"Elizabeth didn't send me here." Sheppard grimaces. "Not that she didn't suggest it - _strongly_ - but that's not why I came."

"So?" McKay asks.

"You ran. Twice, now. Didn't give me a chance to speak to you. Pretty selfish, McKay."

"I…" he pauses, and admits: "I had to."

"No," Sheppard says, vehemently, "you didn't. You could have stayed, but you didn't."

Again there is silence. Above them the apartment looms, to McKay suddenly seeming dark and foreboding. Upstairs lies a confined space, with nowhere to escape to. Unconsciously his footsteps begin to slow.

"I wanted you to see it in Atlantis," he mutters.

"Where you wouldn't have to deal with the consequences?"

He winces, both at the brutal tone in Sheppard's voice, and the knowledge that he's right.

Sheppard sighs. The alcohol seems to have loosened his tongue; for McKay his one beer has had the opposite effect. He feels jittery and tense, as though on trial beneath the Colonel's gaze.

Maybe he is.

Maybe, McKay thinks ruefully, he deserves it.

They continue in silence through the apartment lobby, shoes soft against the tiled floor. The night security guard is sat at the desk, replacing Brian, and barely looks up when the two men enter.

The ride in the lift feels constrictive and claustrophobic, but the atmosphere doesn't change when they return to the apartment. McKay shuffles to the kitchen, fetching two beers without being asked. Sheppard drops onto the couch.

Spot is nowhere to be seen. Rodney assumes the cat is once again asleep on his bed, out of the way. He is envious of that, the ability to hide.

He can't. Not anymore.

He hands the beer to Sheppard, then sits in the armchair, feeling awkward and strangely wired. His breath is short and fast.

"I did mean it," he says, quietly. "About it not being your fault."

Sheppard doesn't answer. He swigs a gulp of his beer, then rakes a hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter now," he says, in a way which tells McKay yes, it does, it clearly does even if the Colonel won't admit to it.

Rodney's gaze drifts up to Sheppard's neck. If there is a scar, he cannot see it.

Hazel eyes narrow. "Stop that."

He gulps. "What?"

"You know damn well what, McKay." More beer is drunk. Rodney wonders at the amount, whether he should fetch another bottle now - or whether he should lock the rest up.

He stares at the floor, and takes small sips of his own beer nervously.

"I should have known something was wrong," Sheppard says suddenly.

McKay rolls his eyes. "Oh, yes. Your magic eight ball. I'd forgotten."

"It's my job…"

"To protect the team, blah blah. I've heard it." He leans forward, resting the bottle on his knee. "Pegasus is dangerous. Wraith, Genii, energy sucking clouds. Why do you think I'm here and not on the Daedalus?"

Sheppard stares at him, frowning. "That's why? Because Pegasus is _dangerous?"_

McKay winces. He had hoped not to have to explain; isn't sure he can, that he can put his thoughts into words. "No, I… not exactly."

"It either is or it isn't."

"Then," he huffs, "yes. Partly. In case you've forgotten, Colonel, I was injured, badly, sent back to Earth."

"I tried to argue with Elizabeth," Sheppard interjected. "No one wanted you to leave."

"But I had to," McKay insists. "I get that. It would have been too big a risk for me and the city if I had stayed." He knows that - although it has taken him some time to process, to get past the initial defensive state of denial he shrouded himself in while wallowing in the infirmary.

"So…"

"So I came here."

Sheppard shakes his head. "And that's it?"

"Well, except for the part where I was dragged out of my perfectly happy existence to come save your asses…"

"Come on!" Sheppard protests, rising from his seat. "I know you, McKay. Your work on Atlantis is everything."

He sighs, folding his arms defensively. "Did you notice the word _happy_?"

"And you expect me to believe that? Here?"

"Well," he hesitates, "I was getting there. And believe me, I never thought it would happen, but it did, and I…"

"What?"

Rodney pauses, struggling with the confession. "I can't do it again."

Sheppard closes his eyes, just for a moment. "You couldn't have told me that in Antarctica?"

He doesn't answer, choosing instead to ask a question of his own.

"Why did you come?"

"I told you, vacation."

He snorts. "I don't believe that for a minute, Sheppard, but I'm not asking about that. Why Antarctica?"

Sheppard turns, and looks out toward the window. "What are you talking about?"

"After, y'know…" McKay swallows, his throat dry. "After what I said. You came."

"Elizabeth sent me."

He is tempted to believe that, accept the easy answer, but he can't. "Try again, Colonel."

"Why?" Sheppard demands. "Why does it matter?"

"Because it doesn't make sense!" he protests, pushing himself to his feet abruptly. "I hadn't sent the video! And even if you had seen it, it doesn't change anything! It doesn't undo what happened to you, to me - it doesn't take away what I said and I know, an apology isn't enough, not after everything, so I want to know why! Beckett I understand, he's a doctor, that rules everything he does, but it doesn't explain you! So why, what was it? Obligation? Teyla forced you into it?"

"You were _dying_ McKay!" Sheppard explodes, face pale with pink cheeks. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Pot and kettle, Colonel! Or have you forgotten, because I sure as hell haven't!"

He stops suddenly, breathless, shocked at his own words and the memories they provoke.

Blood on his hands and soaking through his uniform, warm and cloying, the smell thick and overpowering. Feeling for a pulse with shaking hands, pulling a limp body over his shoulder and staggering into a run.

The desperation…

_Oh_.

"You should have left me," Sheppard says, quietly. "If you had…"

"Then you'd be dead," he says, fiercely. "And that's the only outcome that matters."

Sheppard deflates, his entire body slumping. He rubs a hand over his hair, and McKay suddenly wonders how long the Colonel has been awake - travelling all day, tired, and now drunk and angry.

_Clever, Rodney._

"Teyla said pretty much the same thing," Sheppard says, quietly.

"Yes, well…" he hesitates, "she can be insightful, at times."

"Did I thank you? Y'know, for…"

"Yes. In the infirmary." He laughs, weakly. "I wasn't very gracious about it."

"_Don't thank me."_

"No." Sheppard's expression tightens, his shoulders lifting. "Not exactly."

"Have I said I was sorry, already?"

"Once or twice."

"I should have said it sooner." He starts wringing his hands. This is not how he intended this discussion to go - hell, he never intended to have this discussion at all.

Running away. Sheppard was right.

He swallows, throat tight. "I'm a… I can be, at times, a little… _cowardly_."

"You saved my life."

"Not that."

Sheppard's eyes narrow. "No. Not that. If you mean the shutting us out part…"

He shivers, ashamed. "I know. But like the sticker said, I'm an ass."

The Colonel shakes his head, fingers closing around his beer bottle tightly. "Stop apologising."

"I have to…"

"No, you don't." Sheppard's voice lifts in volume. "You don't. I get it. You weren't thinking straight, McKay. You had other issues on your mind. Fine, I understand, I accept your apology. Fact is, I should have seen through all your bull. But you hid…" He breaks off, shaking his head.

"Yes." Rodney flinches. "I know. I hid." He waves one hand in the air. "Coward, remember? At least I'm staying on Earth now."

"And that's it?" Sheppard demands. "You can turn your back on it?"

"I have a new job, an apartment, I went on a date…"

"And you're happy?"

"Yes!" He hesitates, suddenly aware of a slight niggle of doubt. Is he? Was his near break down in Maggie's patient room a sign of his happiness? Is he happy, or is he content - and is there a different?

He has never been content in his life before now. Maybe that's better than happiness.

"I… I am. I'm happy."

"No. I don't buy it. I think you're running again, just like from Atlantis, just like from Antarctica."

He frowns. "I'm choosing this, Colonel…"

Sheppard drains the bottle, and places it on the windowsill. "You expect me to believe that?"

"It just _is_, Colonel…"

"After everything? You _left_, McKay." He takes a step forward, so they are less than a foot apart. "Not a word."

"I apologised…" he objects.

"What about the others? Beckett, Teyla, Ronon, Elizabeth…"

"I know." He again wrings his hands, shaking a little from adrenaline. "I know, and I'm sorry…"

"Zelenka's doing your job, and I'm giving him hell…"

"I'm sure Radek is quite capable of giving back as good as he gets…"

"And that's your fault!"

"Then I'll apologise to them too!"

"You need to come back," Sheppard snaps, nearly yelling. "It's not good enough, McKay. Pretending you can hide here."

"I'm not hiding." Rodney is aware of his shoulders tightening, of taking a small step closer to Sheppard, aggressively. He _likes_ this life, likes what he has made here, and Sheppard, drunk or not, cannot argue against it.

"Admit it!"

"No!"

"Damn it, McKay!"

"I'm not going to admit it, Colonel!" He takes a deep breath, lifting his chin defiantly. "Yes, I left Atlantis, and I've apologised, and I'll apologise to the others too - I _am_ sorry for that. And as for Antarctica, well, I didn't think you wanted to see me, and judging from our current debate I'm guessing I was right!"

"McKay…"

"But I'm not going to apologise for this decision, Colonel, because it's all me! Pure McKay!"

"Know it all," Sheppard accuses. "Arrogant, condescending…"

"Didn't stop you from calling me as soon as you needed my help!"

He doesn't see the punch coming, doesn't see the fist hurtling towards his face. McKay is only aware of its impact against his jaw, of falling backwards, awkwardly, into the side of the armchair.

It takes several long moments for him to recover, to take a staggered breath and look up with wide eyes.

"You hit me!"

Sheppard takes several steps back, his hands raised apologetically. "McKay…"

"You said you wouldn't hit me!"

"I didn't mean to…"

"You hit me!" he protests, rubbing his hand along his jaw, checking for breaks, for swelling. "It hurts!"

A tiny smirk breaks out on Sheppard's face. "Yeah."

"Really!" Although McKay's surprise is not followed by anger. The pain, mild though it is, is cathartic. A release for the emotions of the night, of the past few months.

"Sorry about that." Sheppard holds out his hand for support, and with an overly dramatic show of reluctance, McKay accepts and pulls himself upright.

He scowls at his friend, whose smirk has now developed into a full blown grin.

"Do you know how easily I bruise?"

"Not before now."

"Well you've never hit me before!" The pain is starting to fade, although McKay can only guess what he will look like the next day.

Sheppard raises an eyebrow. "You've never been that annoying."

"That's right, blame me, not the drunk!"

"I'm not drunk." Sheppard pauses, glancing at the empty bottles. "I'm not _that _drunk." He winces, looking at McKay's jaw. "Maybe you should sit down?"

"You think?" he grouches, but does as he is told, dropping onto the couch with a huff. Sheppard follows his example, so they are both sitting next to each other, staring at the coffee table.

"Sorry," Sheppard offers.

"Humph." Rodney slides a sideways glance at him. "Did it make you feel better?"

"A little." The Colonel grins. "Maybe you should do that for everyone. Skip the apologies, just let them line up and take a shot."

"Oh, you'd love that!" he snorts. "Ready to take video?"

"It's an idea. Hey, think about it. It would save you a lot of time."

"But kill a few brain cells! Elizabeth and Carson I could handle - he hits like a girl - but Ronon would knock me into next week!"

"Mm." Sheppard pretends to consider the idea. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

Silence descends, but it is not as uncomfortable or painful as those that preceded it.

"So…" The Colonel drawls, slowly. "Are we good?"

Rodney says nothing for a moment, suddenly nervous. He might have pretended to himself that he could reach this moment, that he could salvage this much - but he isn't naïve. "I don't know," he admits.

"Maybe…" Sheppard shrugs. "Getting there?"

"Yeah." Feeling the sudden need to lighten the mood, he suggests: "You know, if I could hit you back…"

"Not going to happen, McKay."


	22. Chapter 22

_Author's Notes: No, there's no excuses. Sorry!_

_

* * *

_

McKay does not sleep well. Partly due to jet lag, but mostly because his stomach will not stop churning. He is nervous, and cannot get his mind to switch off. There are still too many questions unanswered.

He knows, now, why Sheppard came. It is the same reason why he was unable to leave the man to bleed to death on the cold ground of an alien planet, despite the angry natives chasing them with weapons that would eventually cripple him. He could not leave his friend behind - and neither, it seems, could Sheppard.

That epiphany has shaken him.

McKay tells himself it is the Colonel's military training which has brainwashed the man into the mistake, and his appearance is not due to friendship or loyalty. It doesn't work. Despite his denials, McKay knows that Sheppard wouldn't come to Earth for just anyone, and that fact leaves him feeling both humiliated and ashamed.

_This is all your fault, you know that?_

God, McKay wishes he could take his words back.

But Sheppard forgives him. Mostly. McKay rubs his jaw.

And then there is Atlantis.

He can go back.

And what? Go back to the way things used to be? Running from one crisis to another without pause? Little time to spend on his own projects, to pursue the discoveries Pegasus offers. Long hours, falling asleep in the lab, living off chocolate and sugar. The lifestyle might be his trademark but it is not one Rodney has ever enjoyed, no matter how much of a masochist Carson accuses him of being.

Does he want to go back to being driven by necessity?

He finally falls asleep in the early hours, and wakes around brunch-time to a gnawing hunger.

Sheppard is lying on the couch, still sleeping off the beers and his long flight. Spot lies atop his chest, curled up into a ball and purring contentedly.

Rodney goes to the kitchen and starts to make breakfast, deliberately rattling the crockery to disturb his roommate. He makes an attempt to clean up the debris of his cooking experiment, wiping flour off the wall and getting rid of the pasta into the trash. He makes fresh coffee, and finds a box of cereal he acquired in the previous day's random shopping trip. Something multicoloured and full of sugar.

"Morning."

Sheppard is standing next to the kitchen countertop, looking haggard, but his hair still annoyingly perky.

"Coffee," McKay says in response, pointing at the pot.

Sheppard grunts, following instruction and moving to pour himself a cup.

There is a prolonged silence, a tension in the air making both men uncomfortable. McKay knows that although the ice was broken the night before, there is still much that has not been said. They have not yet had 'the talk,' the one where Rodney explains his reasons for staying on Earth, and Sheppard completely misunderstands.

"No thanks," Sheppard says, when offered toast. "What did you plan on doing today?"

McKay shrugs. "I hadn't really thought that far."

"Well, what do you normally do?"

He frowns, feeling embarrassed. "There are a couple of people I need to see. My neighbour, to thank her for looking after my cat."

"Okay. Mind me tagging along?"

"Well…" he hesitates.

"Oh!" Sheppard holds up his hands. "Sure, I can entertain myself…"

"No," he interrupts quickly. "It's just, are you sure you have nothing you'd rather be doing?"

"Why, is there anything to do around here?"

"Well, no, but California…"

"McKay, I'm not going to California."

"Oh." He pauses, confused, while Sheppard nonchalantly drinks coffee without further comment.

It is another thirty minutes before they are ready to leave the apartment. While Sheppard is in the shower, McKay makes an attempt to tidy, shoving papers underneath the coffee table, filling the sink with hot and soapy water, and leaving pots to soak. He feeds Spot, and rearranges the cushions on the couch; anything to keep his mind occupied and away from thinking about the man in the other room.

It feels odd to be sharing this space with someone, however temporary.

Sheppard emerges, clean shaven but clothing rumpled from his holdall. He waits for Rodney to fetch a jacket and his wallet, but makes no move to exit through the open doorway.

"What?" McKay asks, frowning.

"Your cover story, McKay?" Sheppard's gaze drifts downwards.

"Oh." His hand pats his thigh subconsciously. "I suppose I couldn't claim a miracle?"

"Not really," the Colonel says, dryly.

The ebony walking stick is leaning against the door, where McKay had carelessly deposited it on his return from Antarctica. He picks it up, feeling awkward, then heads out into the corridor.

"McKay?"

"What?"

"You don't have to fake the limp."

"Oh." He looks down at his feet, and shifts his weight so he is standing more naturally. "Right. I guess if anyone asks it's just the physiotherapy, right?"

"It's easier than the miracle explanation."

They continue down the corridor, to Mrs Thirsk's apartment. McKay feels self-conscious carrying the stick, more so now than he ever did when he needed to use it, and he wonders how much is to do with his pretence, and how much is Sheppard's presence. He is not entirely insensitive; he knows the Colonel took the blame for the mission failure on himself, and that any reminder of that will not be well received.

He knocks at the door, and when Thirsk answers he is relieved at the distraction.

"Mister McKay?"

Thirsk is wrapped in a leopard print dressing gown, her hair scraped back from her forehead by a thin metal band.

"Uh, hi."

"I guessed that you were back." She raises an eyebrow at Sheppard and opens the door a little wider. "You have company?"

He glances behind him. "Oh, yes. This is Col…"

"John Sheppard," his friend interrupts, offering a hand.

Mrs Thirsk returns the gesture, then asks: "Do you and your friend want to come in?"

"Actually, we have to be somewhere," McKay excuses. "I just came to, ah, to thank you for looking after Spot for me."

"Not a problem. Although a little more notice might be nice." She raises an eyebrow, although her tone is mild.

He reaches into his jacket pocket for his wallet. "What do I owe you for…"

She shakes her head. "It's alright, I don't mind. I wasn't going to let the poor thing starve."

"Oh. Thank you." He glances at Sheppard. "Well, we should be going…"

"Right," Sheppard says. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," she replies, with a wide smile.

McKay rolls his eyes, moving toward the elevator. "_Sheppard_…"

Sheppard nods at Thirsk, who shuts the door slowly. The Colonel turns and follows McKay, grinning.

"She seems nice."

"I guess. I don't really know her." He hits the button for the lift, and steps inside when the doors open.

Sheppard frowns, clearly thinking. "My memory may be a little hazy from last night…"

"There's a surprise…"

"But didn't you mention going on a _date_?"

"Oh." McKay flushes. He _had_ mentioned it, stupidly, in an attempt to fill up one of the many silences. A casual reference to the restaurant and the bar on the same street.

"It wasn't with…"

His eyes widen. "No!"

"Well, she seemed friendly," Sheppard says, mockingly.

"She's nice enough," McKay says, defensively, although he immediately regrets the reaction. Thirsk belongs to his new life, and although he would not consider his neighbour anything more than an acquaintance she is still part of his world here, one he is foolishly proud of.

Sheppard seems to recognise this, because he nods, and goes back to his original subject. "So who was the date with?"

The lift pings, the doors opening onto the lobby. McKay steps out quickly, glad of the distraction.

Brian is sat behind reception, reading a comic. He looks up from behind the pages of the _Silver Surfer_ and smiles widely.

"Doctor McKay!"

He waves uncertainly, his feet reluctant to move toward the reception. Sheppard nudges him in the back with an elbow.

"Going to introduce me?"

Wincing, McKay walks over to where Brian is sat. "Brian, Sheppard, Sheppard, Brian. Hi."

"Hi!" Brian's expression is bright and eager. "Have you been on holiday? I went to your place a few times but nobody answered."

"Not a holiday, exactly…"

"Oh." The boy's face falters slightly. "Maybe you didn't hear me…"

"No, no," McKay interrupts, sighing. "I wasn't there, Brian. I was…"

"Working," Sheppard supplies. "An emergency job."

Brian looks up at Sheppard, his shoulders tensing slightly. "Hi," he says, nervously.

"Hi," Sheppard says, with a smile. He nods at the comic. "Good choice. The Surfer was always one of my favourites."

McKay raises an eyebrow. "Really? I would have thought Batman was more your style, Sheppard."

"Are you kidding? The Silver Surfer came from outer space, he had great powers…"

"And he rode around on a shiny surfboard?"

Brian grins. "I think it's cool."

"Me too." Sheppard pokes McKay gently in the ribs. "I bet you were too cerebral for comics, McKay."

"Hardly," he sniffs. "The Surfer was okay, but I preferred the Fantastic Four."

"Mister Fantastic," Brian guesses.

"Scientific genius," Sheppard finishes.

McKay realises that two grins are aimed at him, and he scowls deeply. "You know, we do have places to be…"

"Right." The Colonel turns back to Brian and reaches out to shake his hand. "Nice to meet one of McKay's friends."

Inwardly Rodney groans. Brian flushes a deep pink and mumbles something like, "not really."

"Oh sure. McKay was keen for us to meet." Sheppard leans against the desk. "Figured we had things in common."

"Like the Surfer!" Brian says, excitedly. He looks at McKay, and Rodney realises the effect Sheppard's words have had, the boy's nerves gone. "Could I… if I could… the weather report said it would be a clear night tonight. No clouds."

Sheppard raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Oh." McKay looks between the pair. "Right. Uh, well…" He glances at Sheppard. "Brian sometimes comes over for, ah, astronomy lessons."

"Really?" His friend smiles. "Well, come on over. I could use a refresher course."

"Well… fine. Yes." He tries to instil more emphasis into his voice. "Why not?"

Somehow Brian manages to bounce, despite still being seated. "I'll see you both tonight, then?"

"Sure," McKay says, then deliberately turns away from the desk to avoid any further conversation. He doesn't wait for Sheppard to catch up, walking toward the exit quickly.

"He seems nice," Sheppard says, when they have left the building.

McKay presses his lips together, but can't stay quiet. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Invite him to _my_ apartment."

"You invited him, McKay. And what's the problem?"

"Because," he snaps back, but cannot come up with a good rejoinder. He doesn't know why he feels so infuriated; there was nothing in Sheppard's comments that was unkind, or more than gentle teasing. "He's clingy."

"Your friend?"

"Brian. There's no point in him hooking him in when I'll be leaving here soon."

"Because of your new job?" Sheppard asks, an odd tone to his voice.

"Exactly. What he needs is stability and I'm not the one to provide that."

"Seemed to me like he's just lonely."

McKay scowls, walking a little faster. "Even more reason then. He'll only end up getting hurt."

Sheppard's jaw clenches, and he says, low and quiet: "Maybe you're right."

Rodney glances at him, then turns away, looking out at the street. "We should be able to get a cab from around the corner."

* * *

The two men spend the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon shopping; not a pastime McKay would ever have imagined him doing with Sheppard. Neither of them particularly enjoy the experience. Their argument from earlier, though brief, causes a return to the uncomfortable silences of the night before. McKay feels like his cat always seemed to before a storm; twitchy and irritable. He insults several unlucky shop assistants for their ineptitude and slowness, and by the time they reach the third floor of the department store he actually spots several of them hiding. 

Sheppard says nothing, preferring to be ignored. After the first hour he says he has his own shopping to do, and they agree to meet later at a coffee shop across the street.

Secretly Rodney is relieved.

To distract himself he buys far more than he needs. It starts out as essentials, items he will need for his move. He has realised that almost everything in the apartment - from the furniture to the spoons lying unwashed in his sink - is still officially the property of the SGC. He doubts that there would be any argument or fight put up if he tried to take it with him, but he feels the need for a clean break, a fresh start.

He has to leave everything behind.

McKay also realises his wardrobe is small. He has never been enthusiastic about clothes shopping, but before he left for Atlantis he drastically reduced his number of casual items to enough for the weekend, usually preferring his uniform because it meant less time wasted in the morning. Unfortunately that left him with only a handful of outfits, one of which was cut open and destroyed by the medical team in Antarctica. None of them are suitable for a professorship.

He is happy to be known as the evil, cantankerous academic, but not the one dressed as a shabby hobo.

The larger or more expensive items - a suitcase, an MP3 player, an overcoat - he arranges to be delivered to his apartment. The rest he has packed neatly in a number of bags, and when the weight starts to get cumbersome he plays on the stick a little, exaggerating a limp and encouraging the shop assistants to offer help.

The indulgent spending spree and the belittling of staff does little to soothe his anxiety. Rodney tries to focus his thoughts on the job, on what he will look for in a future home, on what he will need; but he always ends up thinking of Sheppard, and their earlier argument.

He has always thought - perhaps not immediately, but certainly after their first few missions together - he has thought of Sheppard as a friend. From the moment he was pushed off a balcony in the name of experimentation, McKay believed it.

But this…

This is too hard.

And now he has fallen into the same trap, here on Earth. Started to form a friendship with others, with Brian and even with Maggie.

And then what happens?

He destroys it.

Better that, he thinks, than…

_Blood on his hands, hearing Sheppard's breath stutter, start, stutter and stop…_

But what situation will he be in on Earth where he has to save someone's life? In a lecture theatre? In a library?

Why the hell is he still holding himself back from building anything substantial here?

McKay resolves to relax, to start enjoying the sharing of his new life with the old one. As though by doing so he can prove he has nothing holding him back.

He arrives in the coffee shop first, and orders a slice of chocolate cake and two coffees. Sheppard appears a few minutes later, carrying a single bag. He slips into the seat opposite and points at the coffee mug.

"This mine?"

"I'm not that much of a caffeine fiend, Colonel," he replies, dryly.

Sheppard shrugs, picking up the mug. "Did you get everything you need?"

"For now. I'll get the bigger items when I move."

"How long?"

"A few weeks."

His friend nods, slowly. He drawls: "Look, McKay, about before…"

"It's alright," Rodney says quickly, before he can stop himself. "I'm looking forward to it, actually."

Sheppard raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes." He forces his voice to sound stronger, more confident. "I was worried the two of you wouldn't get on, but clearly you have more in common with each other than I could have guessed. So, if _you_ don't mind, it's fine for Brian to come over tonight."

He waits a moment, secretly hoping Sheppard will take the bait and decide to opt out of the evening. He is disappointed.

"Sure. We can get take-out."

"Great." Desperate for a change in subject, McKay's gaze drifts down to the shopping bag, which is sitting atop the table. "All that time spent shopping and that's all you got?"

Sheppard grins, and delves into the bag, pulling forth a number of CDs. "It took me a while to choose."

He scans a few of the titles. _Johnny Cash, a Hundred Highways; Willie Nelson, Songbird; Tom Petty, Into the Great Wide Open_.

"Hmm. I hope you're not going to try and inflict any of those on me."

"Depends on whether you're coming back to Atlantis or not."

McKay scowls, burying his fork into the chocolate cake. "I thought I'd made my decision clear."

Sheppard sighs, putting the CDs back into the bag. "Not exactly, McKay. Sure, you've _said_ you're staying, but I don't buy it."

Hand unconsciously reaching towards his jaw, Rodney shakes his head. "Let's not repeat history, Colonel."

"I was out of line last night." Sheppard pauses. "A little, anyway. I didn't explain myself right. I was…"

"Drunk?" McKay supplies.

"Angry." Sheppard looks down at the table top. "Look, Rodney, things haven't been the same since you left."

"Radek is more than capable of taking over in my absence."

"Yeah, he is. But he doesn't argue with me, doesn't talk back."

"Give him time."

"I shouldn't have to." Sheppard lifts his gaze. "I've apologised for what happened…"

"And I said it wasn't your fault," McKay retorts, hotly. His cheeks burn.

"The point is, if you were afraid to come back, I'd understand. You wouldn't be the first…"

His jaw clenches, the cake tasting sour. "Because I'm a civilian? You think I'm scared because I'm not military?"

The answer comes back quickly: "No. Because you were nearly _killed_."

Rodney's shoulders slump slightly. "That isn't why I'm not going back. Not that it doesn't scare me witless, Colonel - and I'd like to point out that's a rational reaction - but that isn't why. Not everyone has your same suicidal tendencies."

Sheppard frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He lowers his voice slightly, leaning across the table so his words will not be picked up by confused bystanders. "Taking a nuke into a Wraith ship ring any bells? Or, oh, flying _dangerously_ close to a chronosphere?"

"Hey, you were there…"

"Oh, and let's not forget your last order to me, which I believe went somewhere along the lines of, 'don't mind me bleeding to death, Rodney, because your life is worth more than mine is, and you'll cope fine explaining to Elizabeth why you let your team commander and friend _die_ because you were too busy running for your _life!"_

He stops, taking a deep breath. Too often his mouth runs away with him, and although for the most part McKay has learnt to live with his words, this time he wishes he could take them back.

Sheppard is an odd shade of white, a vein throbbing in the side of his neck. "It was my decision to make."

"No it wasn't!" McKay hisses. "You were taking the easy option, Sheppard, and leaving me to pick up the pieces! Just like the others!"

"What others?!"

He swallows, throat suddenly tight, regretting his words and wishing his tongue would stop. "You know."

Sheppard drops his head, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Griffin. Peter."

"Don't." The plea is quiet but fierce.

"This wasn't the same."

"I said _don't_," he repeats, pushing his chair back abruptly and rising to his feet. "We should go back to the apartment."

"McKay…"

He ignores the protest, pulling on his jacket roughly and grabbing his bags.

"You haven't eaten your cake," Sheppard points out, although he is following example and getting to his feet.

"I'm not hungry." Without waiting for his companion, McKay turns and stalks out of the coffee shop, the heavy shopping bags banging into his leg and the stick he still carries.

He is aware of Sheppard following, having to run a short distance to catch up.

"McKay."

He chooses deafness.

"_McKay."_ The Colonel grabs him by the arm, pulls him back.

"What?" he snaps, fiercely.

Sheppard stares at him, meets his gaze levelly and says: "Tell me why you're staying here."

McKay swallows. They stand in the middle of the sidewalk, while around them fellow shoppers pay them no attention, walking around the pair without a second glance.

"Here?"

"Now," his friend says, deliberately. "I want to know, McKay. I want to know how you can give all of it up, when I _know_ how much Atlantis means to you."

"You don't …"

"Yeah, I do. Because it means as much to me."

Rodney shakes his head, the bags in his hands seeming to drag him down into the concrete. "It's not the same."

"Then _tell_ me," Sheppard insists.

"I…" McKay begins, then stops, overwhelmed by claustrophobia. Around him the noise of the street increases until it is almost deafening. The few passing strangers appear as a crowd, and the sky seems to close in on the pair.

"McKay…"

Wanting to escape, McKay grabs Sheppard's arm and pulls him toward the kerb. He ignores the man's protests, and looks out into the road, seeking a cab. Spotting one turning the corner, he hails it with one hand, struggling to wave whilst holding bags and his stick.

"McKay…" Sheppard repeats.

"In a minute. Not here. Not…" He pauses, his hands clenching.

The cab pulls up to them, a door opening automatically. Rodney gets in, pushing his bags before him, and collapses onto the seat. He gives directions to the driver while Sheppard settles down beside him.

"What the hell was that?"

Rodney doesn't answer at first. He takes time to sort himself out, to unzip his jacket, to gather his shopping.

"Well?"

"I…" He swallows, and turns to look out the window. How can he explain? How can he describe his feelings after Carson told him he might never walk again? How can he confess the reasons behind his hiding, burying himself into the sheets as though he could escape the world? Denying the shock and the hurt until, in a strange apartment that someone else had picked as his new home, he broke down.

"The city," Sheppard says quietly, briefly glancing at the driver. "All that technology."

"It isn't about that," he says. "If I wanted just that I could get a job with Carter."

"And you're telling me you're happier like this? As a university _professor_?"

"Maybe," he snaps, quickly. "Maybe you've got me all wrong. Maybe I've realised that getting a Nobel prize isn't everything?!"

"Tell that to the wall of certificates on Atlantis!" Sheppard fires back.

They are both aware of the driver shifting, clearly eavesdropping and trying to hide it. McKay scowls and slumps back into the seat, making it clear he isn't going to continue the conversation here. Sheppard seems to agree, because he too drops back, twisting to look out the window.

The rest of the journey is conducted in silence. Rodney watches the street outside, and tries to think of the words to explain.

He applied for the mission to Atlantis because of what it offered him in terms of his career. It has been everything - more than everything he wanted. Technology the like of which he could never have dreamed of. New discoveries every day. The promise of achieving more in a single year than any of his peers could in a lifetime. The knowledge of that was enough for his enthusiasm, despite the fact that his achievements would be classified and restricted from world view.

He never thought he would find a home there.

_Happiness_.

Was he happy?

He thinks of Teyla, insisting on his participation in lessons despite his inability to remember the right way to hold a stick. Fighting with Ronon for the same pot of jello, the Satedan using his speed and Rodney using his wits. Carson, sharing the occasional glass of whiskey and a wistful conversation over what they missed the most from Earth.

Does he think he can have that here?

But he can't go back. Not after everything. He can't face that again - losing everything.

Destroying everything.

He casts a casual sideways glance to the man sitting beside him.

Why the hell did Sheppard come? Why did he _have_ to come, when things were just beginning to go in the right direction?

When he was beginning to get his life back on track?

Right?


	23. Chapter 23

_Sheppard_

An uneasy truce is formed between the two men.

It arises from necessity. The apartment is small, and the town outside offers little refuge. Sheppard knows he could follow McKay's suggestion and leave, head to California, but he also knows that if he does that then they will both be calling it quits, and he isn't ready to do that yet. He doesn't think McKay is either.

When they return to the apartment McKay disappears into his room, muttering about needing to unpack, to do an inventory of his possessions. He makes a very deliberate statement about needing to list what items he still needs for his move. Sheppard refuses to rise to the bait, and instead drops to the sofa and switches on the television.

He channel hops idly, finding nothing of interest and settling on a news channel. He pays no attention to the moving images, still consumed with anger and frustration over what he sees as McKay's continuing denial.

Sheppard wants to believe that after three years, he knows McKay well enough to be certain when the man is being honest, and when he is lying. The difference between McKay's _'it's impossible, Colonel!'_ and when a task really couldn't be done. As his friend and as his team leader, Sheppard considers it his duty to see past the Canadian's outer defences, be it his sarcastic retorts when something was demanded of him, or his casual reassurances of _'I'm fine_' when it was then Sheppard could be sure he wasn't.

But he failed in his duty.

Back on Atlantis, after the disastrous mission and all its consequences, he failed. Allowed his own feelings of guilt and shame to blind him to the real reason behind McKay's words. Rodney successfully shut Sheppard out because he _allowed_ himself to be shut out. He should have known the truth. Hell, he shares so many similarities with McKay - similarities he will rarely admit to - that he should have seen through the asshole routine because it was exactly what he would have done in the same position!

He should have stayed to shake some damn sense into the man, not skulked off into the shadows to sulk. To behave the way he did towards Teyla and Ronon and even Elizabeth, towards Zelenka - the Czech is owed one hell of an apology.

But it took McKay nearly dying for him to realise his mistake. He won't make the same error again.

The news has moved on to finance. The price of stocks and shares scroll across the screen, meaningless information Sheppard is oblivious to.

History has a tendency to repeat itself. This is Atlantis all over again. McKay striking out in self-defence. Claiming normalcy - hell, even happiness - rather than admit to the truth.

He refuses to let the scientist hide again. Refuses to make the same mistake twice.

Outside night has begun to fall, the street lamps popping into light one by one. McKay emerges from the bedroom holding a leaflet in one hand, which he offers to Sheppard as though it is a gesture of peace.

"Chinese?"

"Sure." Sheppard switches the television to mute, and looks over the takeaway menu. "It's been a while," he admits.

"It's one of the biggest things I missed on Atlantis," McKay says, wistfully. He takes a seat on the armchair opposite.

"Not chocolate?"

"During the first year. Once the Daedalus started bringing supplies it wasn't a problem. But Chinese…" The scientist sighs. "The mess could never get it right."

"They tried their best," Sheppard says, thinking of the one time the cooks on Atlantis had attempted Asian cuisine. With few of the necessary ingredients the chef had turned to the Athosians for an array of supplements, resulting in the strangest, pinkest chow mein Sheppard had ever tasted. Thankfully the experiment had never been repeated, although it was enough to make him skip straight past the chow meins and onto the black pepper beef.

"What about your friend? Should we order him something?"

"Brian usually eats before he comes over."

Sheppard raises an eyebrow. He has not gotten over his surprise at McKay's friendship. Firstly that Rodney was able to form a friendship without being forced to through the close proximity of people forced upon him by an Antarctic base or an Ancient city. Secondly of his _choice_. A friendship with McKay is high maintenance, thriving on a repartee which takes time to build. It isn't that Sheppard does not, upon first judgment, find Brian likeable. But he is so far from anyone Sheppard would imagine as being able to put up with the scientist that he finds it hard to fathom why the relationship exists.

McKay ticks a few items on the menu, and then passes it over and waits for Sheppard to do the same. "I'll call it in," he offers.

"I'll get some beers." Sheppard glances at the television. "What do you have to watch tonight?"

"Oh." McKay seems flummoxed for a second. "I suppose…"

"We can't star gaze all night."

"I rented a couple of dvds a few days ago." McKay grimaces. "I guess I owe some fines on them by now."

"Probably. I doubt Blockbuster will break your legs." Sheppard passes the menu back to his friend, then gets to his feet and wanders over to the television cabinet. "You've got a fair few here, McKay. Are they all rented?"

"I bought some." Rodney's attention seems consumed by the Chinese menu. "When I first got back I couldn't really go anywhere because of…" His voice trails off.

Sheppard grimaces. "You can say it, McKay. I'm not going to hit you again."

"Humph." He hears the Canadian mutter, "that's what you said last time."

He grins, despite himself. Looking down at the dvd titles Sheppard can see a definite pattern developing. "Close Encounters, Logan's Run, Metropolis, Star Trek Five… have you got any movies that _aren't_ science-fiction?"

"Doctor Who," McKay says absently, moving towards the kitchen and the phone.

"That's still sci-fi."

"It's not a movie, though." The Canadian picks up the phone and starts to dial.

Sheppard listens to him run through the order, while idly scanning the rest of the scientist's media collection. There is much that he has seen, and more that he wants to. He knew that he and Rodney shared a love of old sci-fi classics, and during movie nights on Atlantis they had taken the opportunity to inflict their genre on others. It hadn't been appreciated. Ronon preferred action movies and was a fan of Willis and Seagal. Teyla was developing a love of martial arts movies, and had found a friend in Doctor Tsun, one of the biologists who was supplying her with the back catalogue of Chan and Lee. Both Beckett and Elizabeth preferred romantic comedies - a personality trait of the Scot's that both Sheppard and McKay had taken great pains to mock.

But it has been a long time since the last movie night. Months even, before the mission.

_Star Wars_, he remembers. Chosen because the film contained enough different elements to entertain the entire group. The Daedalus had brought a fresh supply of popcorn and M&Ms.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

The television has switched to a news item about a new satellite about to be launched toward Mars. A NASA spokesperson is being interviewed by a blonde woman. Sheppard returns to the couch and turns up the volume so he can hear the words.

McKay replaces the phone into its cradle and turns around. "Oh," he says, disinterestedly. "That."

"All seems pointless when you think about how far the Stargate has taken us."

"Another argument for declassification. It would end NASA's existence, but save your country millions."

"Not as much as the SGC costs." He rolls his shoulders, his back feeling stiff, muscles tense. "Look, McKay…" He hesitates, reluctant to disturb the uneasy peace but still hoping for a release of tension.

"Don't," McKay says, curtly. The scientist turns and heads into the kitchen. "Beer?"

Sheppard sighs reluctantly. "Yeah. Why not?"

The topic of news changes, this time to a war zone. One sight of a familiar desert has Sheppard hitting the remote, flipping the channel to a shopping network.

He has tried to forget about the mission. During the day it isn't hard; his memories are still disjointed, missing huge chunks from the moment he was hit. In the days following he would experience the occasional flashback of sensation; a tightness of breath, the touch of a hand against his arm, the sound of footsteps behind him. In his sleep those feelings become memories, filled in by McKay's own mission report. Details change; being left alone when Rodney follows his order; carrying McKay through the Stargate; neither of them making it.

He changes channel again, as though by scrolling through the numbers and moving further away from the news network he can hide from the memories it provokes.

Can he blame McKay for wanting to stay?

Hell, isn't part of him glad?

McKay nearly died. _Twice_.

How can he think of dragging Rodney back to that?

"Going to stand up all night?"

Sheppard blinks, lowering the remote. Sheepishly he walks over to the couch and drops back into his corner. "What do you want to watch?"

"There's not much on at this time."

"You've got that right." He drops the remote to the coffee table and tries to think of a subject matter. "You know, we never finished our conversation before."

McKay, settling down into the armchair, visibly tenses. "What conversation?"

"About your date."

The Canadian turns an odd shade of pink. "What do you need to know?"

"I'm just surprised."

"I do go on dates, Sheppard, that is when certain air force Colonel's aren't playing at Kirk and hogging all the alien women."

"_One_ woman, McKay, and she was an un-ascended Ancient." Sheppard picks up the beer Rodney has placed for him on the table. "So who was she? Not your neighbour from earlier…"

McKay rolls his eyes. "Oh, hah, very funny."

"So?"

The Canadian explains, very quickly: "She was called Suzanne, I met her in Starbucks, we went for drinks once and I may or may not call her again, I haven't decided yet."

"So what was she, bearded lady, the elephant woman…"

McKay huffs loudly, and makes a move as though getting out of the chair. "If all you're going to do is mock…"

Sheppard lifts his hands in supplication. "Sorry," he apologises, sincerely. "So she was nice?"

Rodney scowls, but sinks back into the chair. "Yes. Intelligent, too."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," he says, grinning.

A small smile lifts the edges of McKay's mouth; and then he coughs, and looks towards the television. "I never asked. How is everyone?"

He shrugs. "Like I said last night, they're all fine."

"They sent me letters."

"Yeah?"

"Elizabeth and Carson. Radek sent me some stuff he was working on."

"He mentioned he had."

"Teyla too."

Sheppard blinks, suddenly remembering the Athosian's gentle suggestion, her comment aimed at encouraging him to communicate. "She wrote to you?"

"Video letter." McKay winces. "Actually, she's sort of the reason I, ah, made that message."

"The…" Sheppard pauses, confused for a moment. Then he realises. "Oh. The 'ass' message."

"Do you have to call it that?"

"I guess Teyla is pretty perceptive."

"Well…" Rodney clears his throat. "I was thinking about it. I should have done it sooner."

"Hey," Sheppard shrugs, wanting to offer something more than a pithy dismissal. "It, uh, it means something that you did."

"I kept thinking about the planet. The mission. When you…"

Sheppard swallows, interrupts: "Don't."

"I thought…" McKay's eyes are bright. "It was bad. I - I knew it was bad."

He jokes feebly, hoping to lighten the mood. "I don't remember much."

"I do," the scientist says, darkly.

"You saved my life."

"I almost didn't." Rodney leans forward, pressing his hands onto his knees. He says, quietly: "It isn't that I'm scared, Colonel, although believe me, the prospect of going through a Stargate again isn't on my list of immediate fears to challenge. But you almost…" He breaks off.

Sheppard studies the ingredients of his beer, fingers tightening around the bottle when his hand threatens to shake.

"Teyla and Ronon weren't there. I didn't know what to do. And then you order me…" McKay's voice lifts with anger, "you order me to _leave_."

"Yeah," Sheppard says, because there is nothing he can say that he hasn't already said - and besides, this is McKay's confessional, not his.

"I don't want to be in that position again."

And there it is. The truth that Sheppard has been waiting to hear - except it isn't quite what he expected. He was convinced McKay was hiding from his fears, and he was right - but not the fear he suspected.

And if he came here to convince McKay to go back to Atlantis, then what can Sheppard say that will help with this? Lie, tell him that it was a one off, that the situation will never repeat itself?

He says, quietly: "It's my job to protect the team, McKay."

"After all this time, you still believe that rubbish? Not that I'm objecting to the idea of you covering our backs - but do you think it's entirely one-sided? You're allowed to play bodyguard to everyone else but if you're the one at risk you're disposable?"

"McKay…"

"Or maybe it's just me, hmm? Maybe if it had been Ronon or Teyla out there trying to save your life you'd have let them get on with it?"

"No…" he tries, unable to stop McKay's rant.

"No what? No it isn't just me?"

"Rodney…"

There is a knock at the door, effectively achieving what Sheppard could not. McKay shuts up, rising from his seat to answer the door.

Chinese food and money is exchanged. Sheppard leans forward, clearing the table of some of the magazines and debris left scattered there. McKay drops several paper bags into the space, and then heads into the kitchen. He hears the rattle of cutlery, and starts to rummage in the bags, pulling out carton after carton, steam rising and scalding his fingers as he opens the lids.

The smell should be more tantalising than it is. It has been too long since Sheppard last had Chinese, the particular type of Westernised, greasy variety served up in his favourite takeout places. But the argument has left a sour taste in his mouth, and he bites into a prawn cracker half-heartedly.

"Beer," McKay says, emerging from the kitchen with several bottles in one hand. He deposits the drinks and the cutlery onto the table, then helps himself to a carton of rice.

"Looks good," Sheppard says, for want of something more meaningful.

"It is."

He picks up his own box of rice, but pauses before reaching for the black bean. He feels restless, unwilling to allow their latest argument to rest without conclusion, just like the others. "Rodney…"

McKay doesn't look up, apparently intent on spooning out a portion of sweet and sour.

Sheppard sighs, but presses forward. "I'm not going to apologise for what happened," he begins, uncertainly. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it was a lousy thing to do. But that's who I am, McKay. That's why I'm in the air force - hell, why I'm in Atlantis. But you knew that already. Seems like a lousy reason to give up your home."

"It isn't my home," McKay says, although Sheppard is gratified to see a hint of uncertainty within the scientist's eyes. "Not anymore."

* * *

Brian appears a while later, when they are in the middle of watching Star Trek IV, or, as Sheppard demanded, 'the one with the whales.'

McKay answers the door, while Sheppard helps himself to some more rice - now cold - and washes it down with beer. He watches the exchange out of the corner of his eye; Brian hesitating, mumbling excuses, offering McKay several opportunities to wriggle out of socialising without repercussions. McKay refusing to listen, faking impatience and irritation, ushering the boy into the apartment and shutting the door.

Pale fingers clutch an astronomy book and a cheap-looking telescope. Brian looks across at Sheppard, clearly apprehensive.

"Hi."

"Hey," Sheppard replies, smiling. He moves his feet from off the couch, making space for the boy to sit down. He gestures at the television. "I'd guess you're a fan of Star Trek?"

Brian nods, a flicker of a smile crossing his face when he glances at the television. "Yes. I like this one."

"Then sit down. Have some Chinese."

McKay pulls a face. "It needs reheating," he objects.

"Oh, I don't mind." Brian settles into the space Sheppard has made for him, pressing himself into the far end of the couch. McKay's cat emerges from beneath the coffee table, where it has spent the last half hour gobbling up scraps, and stretches out behind Brian's feet happily. Clearly, Sheppard thinks to himself, the boy Rodney protests is only an acquaintance has been over to the apartment enough times to make at least one friend.

"Cracker?" Sheppard asks, offering the bag. Sensing hesitation, he adds: "You'd better take some, or McKay here will finish off the entire thing."

"You've had as many as me!" McKay huffs, returning to the armchair.

"No offence, McKay, but you're looking a little pudgier than you did the last time I saw you."

The Canadian scowls, rolling his eyes. "Oh, please. Invalid, remember?"

Brian lifts his head and looks at McKay's leg, frowning. "Are you feeling better?"

Sheppard winces, realising that McKay's stick is still lying discarded beside the door.

"Oh." McKay turns a slightly odd colour, then says quickly: "Acupuncture."

He raises a sceptical eyebrow, knowing Brian cannot see.

McKay ignores the look. "You know the Chinese thing, with needles? It worked wonders."

There is a small pause, and then Brian nods slowly. "I think I saw a documentary on it."

"Yes, well, a few more sessions and I'll be cured."

"Oh." Brian smiles. "Good."

"Yes." McKay coughs, looking towards the television. "Oh, I like this bit."

Sheppard turns towards the screen. Chasing the whales, Kirk and crew cause their ship to appear over the poachers. He has seen the film several times - more than he will ever admit to McKay - but it is a good moment. He finds himself leaning forward in his chair, as beside him Brian puts down the bag of crackers, and McKay's mouth lifts in a lop-sided smile.

"Do you think it could be like this?" Brian asks. "In the future? With spaceships and aliens and planets?"

He pauses, raising an eyebrow at the Canadian. "What do you think, McKay? Think it's possible?"

He is amused to see the scientist choke on a mouthful of beer, his face twisting into an odd expression. "I suppose. Maybe."

"Although," he adds, teasingly, "I guess aliens is pretty unlikely. I mean, the chances of life evolving on another planet, let alone life on lots of different planets…"

"It's always possible," McKay interrupts, his voice strained.

"I'd like that." Brian bounces slightly in his seat.

"Well… they might not all be friendly," Sheppard says, pointedly. "It's bound to be pretty dangerous out there."

His gaze meets McKay's.

"Life-threatening, even," McKay says, deliberately. "Even Spock died."

"He came back to life, though," Brian says. "Because of Doctor McCoy." The boy frowns. "It wasn't a very good movie, though."

There is a long, protracted silence that Brian remains oblivious to. Sheppard continues to watch McKay, but after a moment the scientist turns his head, looking toward the television screen.

He considers interrupting, to prevent the conversation, however shrouded, from ending unfinished.

But it isn't the time, and this isn't the audience. Sheppard sighs, leaning back against the cushions.

He knows it is not his fault that the mission turned sour. Enough experience and enough recent conversation have slowly convinced him of that. He should have seen that sooner, should never have become so consumed with guilt that he allowed McKay to manipulate him into giving in to the scientist's retreat.

But giving the order to leave is not something he will ever regret. He only wishes McKay had listened to him, obeyed the order.

Maybe then…

He realises, suddenly, that McKay is watching him. Trying to hide it, lifting his beer to his face as though studying the bottle label, but still visible, his eyes narrowed slightly as if to ask, 'and then?'

And then…

He would be dead. Not an outcome he hasn't considered before. He can admit, to himself if not to others, that the idea of dying haunts him, but he long ago accepted its inevitability.

And McKay…

He shivers.

* * *

The movie draws to a close.

The streetlights outside are in full illumination, and between open blinds a warm orange glow floods the room. The smell of Chinese takeout and beer hang heavy in the air. Brian is curled up into the sofa, emulating Spot, his feet tucked up beneath him. McKay is sprawled out in the armchair, his chin dipping to his chest every few minutes before he awakens with a snort. On the television screen the titles roll, an orchestra playing to a triumphant finish.

Sheppard reaches out for the remote and switches the player off. The television returns to a cable channel, a late night shopping channel that is loud and bright enough to wake McKay up.

The scientist blinks several times, looking about the room. "What?"

"You missed the end," Brian says, a slight note of reproach in his voice.

"Oh." McKay shrugs. "I've seen it before."

Sheppard pushes himself up off the couch, his legs stiff with cramp. He starts to scoop up the remaining empty cartons back into the paper bag, then picks up the pile and heads to the kitchen to deposit them into the trash.

He stops at the sink to place the dirty plates, and wash his hands clean of a sticky orange goo he suspects is sweet and sour sauce.

The clink of bottles behind him signals McKay's arrival. He carries the empty bottles and puts them on the counter.

"You awake now?"

"I wasn't asleep," Rodney objects.

"Right. Just resting your eyes?"

"It's been a long couple of days, Colonel."

He winces at the slip. "Titles, McKay?"

"Oh." McKay shrugs, not looking in the least bit apologetic. "Sorry."

He dries his hands on a towel, then returns to the living room. Brian is sitting upright, but the boy's gaze is not on the television screen but the book in his hands.

"I guess it's too late," their guest says, sounding slightly disappointed.

Sheppard glances at the microwave clock. "Is it?"

McKay frowns. "Probably. You don't want people to worry, Brian."

"No." The boy unfolds himself from the couch, but he stops to put the book on the table. "Can I leave this here?"

McKay opens his mouth, clearly going to object, but then he appears to stop and change his mind. "I suppose that makes sense."

Sheppard watches the pair closely; the way McKay takes the telescope and book and puts it to one side - not on the coffee table, beneath magazines and discarded paperwork and coffee rings, but on the cabinet, placed carefully beside the television. The care he takes, despite the superficial snark and casual dismissal.

He convinced himself that McKay was lying to himself and to others. That his claim of happiness here was false, made up as another attempt to shut everyone out. A self-defence mechanism, and one Sheppard was determined to see past.

Was he wrong?

Teyla recently accused him of lacking social skills, a judgment he agreed with. Sheppard wonders whether he hasn't started to project that weakness onto McKay. Decided that because he would find it impossible to adjust to life back on Earth, that ability should be denied to McKay.

And if that is true, if that is the source of his anger and frustration, what does that say about him? About their friendship?

Brian is heading toward the door, armed with a bag of prawn crackers that McKay thrusts upon him.

"Look," the scientist says, awkwardly, "I'm sorry we got distracted tonight."

"That's alright. It was fun."

"If you want to come over tomorrow, I suppose that would be alright." McKay shrugs, in a way that is both defensive and dismissive.

"If that would be okay?" Brian asks. He turns towards the door, then pauses, glancing back toward the Canadian.

"What?"

"If you…" The boy hesitates, then shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Spit it out," McKay says, impatiently.

"If you're okay now," Brian gestures vaguely at Rodney's leg, "does that mean you'll be going back?"

There is a definite change in atmosphere, a dipping of temperature that Brian is oblivious too. Sheppard leans over the coffee table, pretending to tidy.

"What do you mean?" McKay asks, clearly nervous.

"Before you came here. You said you worked as a scientist."

Sheppard stays silent, although he is aware of a pair of blue eyes looking back at him.

"No." McKay pauses. "I'm not going back. But I will be leaving. I have a new job, working at a university."

"Oh." Brian's expression falls. "How long?"

"A few weeks."

Feeling driven to say something, Sheppard interrupts: "Plenty of time for more astronomy lessons."

"Sure," McKay says, leaning forward and opening the door. "Tomorrow?"

"Okay." The boy looks disappointed, close to devastation, and he walks through the open doorway out into the corridor with an odd, numb expression on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Rodney closes the door, then turns back into the apartment, sighing heavily. He glares at Sheppard. "See?"

Sheppard blinks. "What?"

"You make him think he has something and then I leave and he gets hurt."

He frowns. "You invited him back tomorrow."

"Because I had to!"

"He's your friend," he points out, emphasising the last word.

"Hardly that!" McKay protests. "He's a kid!"

Sheppard shakes his head, increasingly infuriated. "You should give him more credit, McKay. Allow other people to decide who their friends are."

"Not me," McKay fires back. He runs a hand across his scalp. "You would think I'd know better by now, but oh no, apparently not!"

"What are you…"

"Stability, Colonel. There is none in my line of work. But I keep making the same mistakes. I never learn! You'd think I would by now, especially after…"

"After Atlantis," Sheppard retorts. He takes a step around the couch, keeping the table between him and McKay, in case he is tempted to take another shot at the scientist. "That's what you did there, right? All that sulking in the infirmary, that's what this was about?"

McKay's face pales to white, and he turns as though heading toward the kitchen. "I need to do the washing up."

"Oh no. You're not leaving it there, Rodney. You can't, not now." Sheppard pauses, taking a breath, forcing his voice to lower in volume. "Look, I understand…"

"Oh, really?"

"You think I haven't been there?"

Folding his arms across his chest, McKay stands in the centre of the room and stares at the floor, saying nothing.

"I have," Sheppard says, the words coming with difficulty. "I get it. But it doesn't work. You're not such a genius, or you'd have figured it out by now."

"I tried." The scientist's voice is soft and strained. "I didn't want…" He breaks off.

Sheppard shrugs. "I'm here."

"Right." Rodney lifts his head a fraction, enough to glance at his houseguest. "Proof of how well that worked, I suppose."

"Something like that." Sighing, he drops onto the sofa, his anger dissipating. "Atlantis is still there, McKay. You can go back to it. But running doesn't achieve anything positive, believe me."

McKay snorts, weakly. "You?"

"Yeah. Trust the guy who worked as a chopper pilot playing taxi service in Antarctica. I know what it's like to run."

There. He has never admitted that to anyone - although others were bound to suspect. Particularly Elizabeth, who has never said anything, but studied his file and had her reasons for recruiting him to the Atlantis mission.

Rodney stares at him for a long moment, his gaze searching. Eventually, the colour returning to his face, the scientist moves, walking over to the armchair and taking a seat.

"I've never been good at this," he says, gesturing with one hand. "I've never had…" Again McKay pauses, swallowing audibly. "You know."

"Yeah," Sheppard replies, because he _does_.

"Even with Jeannie, with my sister…" The scientist shakes his head. "I still haven't called her. I've been back for several months and I still haven't picked up the phone just to say 'hi, remember me, your brother Rodney?' I guess that would make me a pretty lousy individual, huh?"

He shrugs. "Join the club."

McKay hugs his arms across his chest, his voice oddly subdued. "I haven't thanked you yet."

"For what?"

"Coming."

He frowns, not wanting to repeat history. "McKay, you were d…"

"Not that," McKay says, quickly. "I meant, well… you don't have to be here."

"No." Sheppard takes a deep breath, leaning back against the sofa. He feels tired, the Chinese food and the beer making him too relaxed. "Rule number one: you don't leave anyone behind."

"You should listen to yourself," Rodney advises, although without the anger or frustration of earlier.

He frowns. "Yeah, well you don't get to risk your neck at every opportunity."

"Believe me, Sheppard, if it hadn't been, oh, the fate of Atlantis _and_ Antarctica at stake, Carter would never have got me to go."

"Good to know you're so self-sacrificing," he jokes.

"Are you kidding? I've spent enough time in cold climates for the rest of my life. And Antarctica's the worst, even more than Siberia. Lousy food, cramped conditions, and you can't even get a hot shower in the morning."

"Can't say the same about Atlantis," Sheppard says, pointedly.

McKay sighs, closing his eyes and letting his head roll back against the armchair. "Change the record, Colonel."

"Not until you admit you'll think about it."

There is a moment of silence, and then the scientist huffs, loudly and pointedly. "Fine. If it will shut you up."

Sheppard grins, and with one hand reaches out for the television remote. "So, McKay. Is it too late to watch Star Trek V?"


	24. Chapter 24

_Author's Notes: I'm not a huge fan of this chapter, I have to admit. It just doesn't seem to flow right to me. But I figure, posting something is better than not posting at all, right?_

* * *

_Beckett_

Carson spends a week with his mother in Scotland.

He wishes, dearly, that it could be longer. It has been too long since he was last home, and there are things he has forgotten. There are the classic memories of home, which he cherishes, builds up into more than what they are. The smell of lavender in his mother's bedroom, bundles of fresh leaves in the wardrobe as an alternative to mothballs. The taste of her shortbread, and smearing strawberry jam onto the golden surface. The dulcet tones of John Humphrys greeting him in the morning, his mother listening to Radio 4 as she prepared breakfast.

She moved several years before he left for Atlantis. Their old home, the house Carson grew up in, was a cottage in a tiny hamlet, overlooking hills. Sheep outnumbered their neighbours a dozen to one. Now elderly and more reliant on the convenience of modern life, his mother lives in a pretty detached house in a suburban village. The building holds no memories for Carson, but it is still very much his mother's. She entertains herself by playing grandmother to the children next door (having never forgiven Carson for not marrying), and socialising with other women of her age at the local church.

Mrs Beckett is fiercely protective of her son, and knows him too well. Perhaps it goes some way to explaining why he has never given her grandchildren. Any woman he meets must live up to the standard she has set.

Perna…

He does not think about Perna.

After five days his mother finds him standing in the kitchen, staring at the kettle without moving to switch it on.

"It won't boil like that."

"Oh." He stirs himself, flicking the switch of the kettle, then reaching for a mug.

"You know, if something is that important, I won't mind if you leave early."

He looks up, frowning. "I don't know what you mean."

"Something's bothering you, pet." She reaches past him to fetch a second cup, and the tin of teabags stood on the counter. "I don't suppose you can tell me about it?"

Carson sighs heavily, allowing his mother to take over the tea making and moving to sit at the kitchen table. "I'm just thinking about some friends of mine."

Truth is, he has barely stopped thinking about McKay and Sheppard since he left the Colonel at the airport, and took the flight to Heathrow. He worries about what will happen between the two men with no one to play referee. Their relationship has always been volatile - the incident on Doranda proved that - but this is the worst it has ever been.

He is still haunted by the image of both men, covered in blood, rushed into the infirmary from the control room. Fighting for Sheppard's life, then later, McKay's leg. He managed to save both, but the after effects were not something he could fight.

"Are they in trouble?"

His mother's perception is at times frighteningly accurate. Carson sighs, scrubbing a hand across the stubble his mother has nagged him to shave.

"Aye. They've suffered a great trial, recently, and they're trying to work it through."

"And you'd like to be there to help?"

He runs a finger over the whorls of wood in the pine surface of the table. "I'm not sure how I'd help."

"But you want to try." She smiles at him, and he notices there are more lines around her eyes than the last time he was here. "Don't you?"

"Mum," he protests, immediately. "I've just got here."

"And you can come back, if you're not needed." The kettle clicks, and she pours the milk into the mugs first, so the liquid isn't scalded.

"I'm here to see you."

"And I appreciate that, love. But I'd rather have the whole of you here than only part." She finishes with the tea, and sets a mug down before him. "Are they in America, these friends of yours?"

"Canada."

"Well, I'm sure you can get a flight this weekend if you book one. The company you work for will pay for it, won't they?"

"The military, mum," he says, absently. The SGC _will_ pay for the flight. Near limitless expenses is one of the few perks he is granted during leave. If he leaves on Saturday he can be there by Sunday evening.

There is the small matter of not knowing whether he is welcome. His mother has no need for a home computer, but Carson has brought a laptop with him, and he can plug it into the landline whenever he needs to communicate with the SGC. He has contact details for both Sheppard and McKay, and knows he can drop an email to Rodney and be certain of a prompt response.

"Well, then." She pushes the sugar bowl across the table towards him. "We can go down to the centre today. We can go and see Mr Hilma. He helped me book that trip to the Isle of Wight, remember? Very helpful man."

He nods, listening with only half an ear. He wonders whether Sheppard and McKay have survived their confrontation. Whether John ever made it, or whether he gave in to his own self-doubt. Carson can imagine the Colonel stood outside Rodney's door, refusing to go in. McKay, _knowing_ the Colonel was outside, and feigning ignorance.

Whether they have come to a solution, or whether they have killed each other.

His mother leans over him, kissing him on the cheek. "You won't quiet until you've done all you can. You wouldn't be my son if you did."

* * *

Carson approaches the apartment door hesitantly. He has checked and triple checked the scrap of paper bearing his friend's new address, but he finds it difficult to believe McKay would settle in a town as small as this one.

He knocks. Sheppard answers.

The Colonel stands in the doorway, looking sheepish, dressed in khaki grey and a white shirt. Carson hears noises from behind him, the sound of a scientist turning the air blue.

He is greeted with a casual tone that seems false. "Hi, doc!"

"Colonel."

Sheppard shrugs. "We're not on duty."

Carson corrects himself: "John." He hears McKay yelp, but cannot see past the Colonel to the room beyond. "Is Rodney alright?"

"Not really," Sheppard says, taking a step back so Carson can enter.

He follows the other man into the apartment, feeling apprehensive. Carson isn't sure what he expects - tension, certainly, the undercurrent can be felt even if Sheppard is doing his best to hide it. Anything further will be a surprise.

The narrow doorway opens up into a pleasant space filled with natural light and naked brick work. McKay is sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by bits of green felt and black plastic. As Beckett watches, the scientist picks up one of these pieces and suddenly hurls it violently across the room, narrowly missing Sheppard's right ear. The soldier never flinches. He simply sighs, heavily, as though this abuse is a regular occurrence, and bends to retrieve the projectile.

"That's not going to help, McKay."

"It helps me," the Canadian snaps. Picking up a sheet of paper from the floor, McKay studies it, absently waving at his guest. "Hey Carson."

"Rodney." He feels at a loss, stood at the edge of the room holding a bag in each hand. As though he is missing a great, cosmic joke the universe has played on him. "What are you doing?"

"Failing to build a poker table," Sheppard explains. He points at a spot near the door. "Drop your bags over there. Drink?"

"Anything cold, please."

Sheppard disappears into the kitchen, leaving Carson to approach his friend on his own, being careful to watch out for flying plastic.

"A poker table?" he asks, curiously.

"Blame Sheppard," McKay says, tossing the paper to the ground in disgust. "When I told him you were coming he insisted I buy one. Group sports, or something like that. Why _I_ had to be the one to pay for it…"

"Military salary, remember?" Sheppard calls out, from the kitchen.

"Hah!" McKay snorts. "And why am I putting the damn thing together? It was your idea."

"Poker?" Carson repeats, uncertainly.

"He said you wouldn't appreciate endless Star Trek reruns and needed something more _fun_." The way McKay puts emphasis on the final word speaks volumes about his own feelings on the subject. "Personally I think Sheppard's the one who needs entertaining." Attacking part of the table with a screwdriver, McKay's hand slips, and Carson sees the flash of metal against a soft palm. "Dammit!"

Sighing, he drops his bags in the spot indicated by Sheppard, and walks over to where Rodney sits cradling his injured hand. "Let me see."

"Self-assembly in five minutes," McKay mocks, his voice pitched high. "Instructions that are in Dutch, screws too large for their holes, and I swear pieces are missing." Obediently Rodney holds out his hand to afford Carson a better look. He is relieved to see that the sharp screwdriver has only clipped the palm, gouging a small but undoubtedly painful trough in the side of McKay's hand.

"No stitches required. You'll live," he says, patting his friend on the knee.

"Great," McKay mutters, glaring at the blood welling up over his skin. "Now I have to put the thing together one handed!"

"Why don't you get the Colonel to take over?" Carson clambers to his feet, his joints creaking. "Where do you keep your plasters?"

The non-injured hand waves at a door opposite. "Bathroom cabinet."

Muttering a comment about clumsy physicists under his breath, Beckett follows McKay's directions to the bathroom. The cabinet is a mirror fronted affair hung above the sink.

"You've had your tetanus jabs?" he calls out, unnecessarily.

"Yes, mother," the reply comes back, edged heavily with sarcasm.

He scowls, opening the cabinet doors. Then stops.

He would expect Rodney, Atlantis' resident hypochondriac, to have a cabinet full of medicines and treatments for every ailment. Carson does not expect to see his own name on so many of the labels. Painkillers, sleeping tablets, even - god help him - antidepressants, although he notes the container is still sealed. Enough drugs for a back street pharmacy, and almost all prescribed by his own hand.

Not anymore, Carson tells himself, but the memories of Antarctica are too fresh. How close they came to losing McKay, sacrificing him for the survival of Atlantis.

He drags his gaze away. On the top shelf sits a packet of plasters of varying shapes and sizes. Next to it lies a tub of antiseptic wipes. Picking up both, Carson closes the doors, and stares at his reflection in the mirror.

Struck by an intense wave of homesickness, Beckett wishes he were with his mum. He wonders at his choice, whether he could get a plane back home, whether the SGC would object.

This isn't just about Sheppard and McKay, he realises, with a jolt. He has his own burden to bear.

"Would you stop? You're getting blood over _my_ table."

"You wanted to use this tonight, Colonel! And I'm perfectly fine…"

Grimacing, Carson takes both the plasters and the wipes into the living room. He finds that McKay is once again battling with the table with his good hand, while Sheppard attempts to snatch pieces away.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Not listening to me."

"Rodney," Carson says, using his best 'doctor' voice. "Put the poker table down and go sit on the sofa." Then, refusing to let Sheppard off: "And you can stop pestering him."

The Colonel plasters on his best, over-the-top look of chagrin, but in the brief second before the mask falls into place Carson glimpses something darker, something broken. Sheppard stands, moving aside but not stopping to offer McKay a hand.

Rodney struggles to his feet, moving across to the couch, then waits for Beckett to sit next to him.

"If I'd known I'd be working," Carson says pointedly, "I wouldn't have come." He opens the packet of wipes and starts to clean McKay's hand, ignoring the scientist's yelps.

"The one and only time," Sheppard promises. The Colonel stands over the pieces of the table, the instructions in one hand. "I think these really are in Dutch."

"I'm so glad you decided to get _that_ table," McKay grumbles. The Canadian's gaze is fixed on his hand, his face twisted into a grimace. "Did Sheppard ever get you that drink?"

"No," Carson says, absently. He is aware of Sheppard disappearing into the kitchen, but doesn't look up from his treatment of Rodney. He lowers his voice slightly, so only McKay is in earshot. "How are you?"

"Fine." The response sounds automatic.

"Rodney…" he chides.

"My leg's as good as new. Possibly better. I hope you and Radek have patented that device." His friend won't look up.

"That's not what I meant," Carson says, but he knows he will not get a response.

Sheppard emerges from the kitchen, a coke can in each hand. He puts one down on the coffee table, then drinks from the other, still not taking a seat. "Will he live?"

"Aye, although you'd be better putting your own table together, Colonel."

Sheppard shrugs. "McKay volunteered."

Carson doesn't argue, although he suspects a more likely story of competition, of an exchange of challenges and insults. Verbal sparring. His hopes lift.

"How's your mother?" John asks.

He finishes applying a plaster over the cut, then releases Rodney's hand. "She's well. Asked after the two of you."

"She knows about us?" Rodney says, surprised.

"She likes to know about my friends."

Sheppard clears his throat. "I bet she was glad to see you."

"Surprised. She didn't expect me for quite some time. I'm beginning to think, however," he admits, ruefully, "she doesn't miss me quite as much as I miss her. Absence, and all that."

"You didn't have to come," McKay points out.

"Consider it my responsibility to you as your doctor. We still don't know if there were any negative effects to that device."

"If there were, I'd have felt them by now."

Privately Beckett agrees, but he needs some excuse to explain his presence. Needed some way of forcing himself back into the physicist's life, short of copying Sheppard's tactic and turning up uninvited.

He isn't stupid. The situation is far from healed. The atmosphere carries the same tension experienced by all after the Colonel's relationship with Chaya, or after McKay's mistakes on Doranda. There is a falseness about the banter. Sheppard's teasing comments feel forced, indirect, like non-specific small talk. McKay's interest in the table seems too consuming, the scientist levelling his gaze at the floor or his injured hand rather than look at the two men beside him.

Carson wonders what they have been doing for the past few days. Whether any progress has been made at all.

"So," he says, wanting to fill the silence. "Is the poker table for tonight?"

"Maybe." Sheppard shrugs. "McKay has a friend coming over."

Carson looks at Rodney in surprise. "Really?"

"Why does everyone seem so shocked?" McKay demands, peevishly. "I do _have_ friends."

"No." He tries to recover himself. "Of course, Rodney." Then he adds, deliberately: "You do in Atlantis."

McKay scowls blackly. Carson is aware of the air temperature dropping several degrees.

"Look," Sheppard says suddenly, "I realised - McKay, your fridge is empty. I should get some supplies."

McKay's gaze flits briefly in the Colonel's direction. "Chocolate," he says. "M&Ms. We'll need something to bet with."

"Very hardcore, McKay."

"Yes, and you can explain that to the minor's mother," McKay retorts, a comment that baffles Carson.

"Not strictly a minor, McKay, but point taken. Anything else?"

"Milk. Cat food."

Carson blinks, looking around the apartment for the absent feline. "You have a cat, Rodney?"

"Spot. He's around here somewhere," McKay replies, waving a hand absently. "Have you got that, Sheppard?"

"I think I can remember," John says, dryly. "I won't be long."

"No rush."

Carson waits for the Colonel to fetch his coat and wallet, for him to step through the apartment door before turning to McKay. The scientist is wriggling into the back of the sofa, making himself comfortable, picking at the bandage absently.

"Well?"

"What?"

"Rodney," he says, drawing out the word. "Don't give me that. I'm well aware of the difficulties between you and the Colonel."

"We're not a married couple, Carson."

"No. But you are friends. So I thought, anyway."

McKay's mouth lifts into a lop-sided smile. "We still are. I think. Sort of." He pushes himself out of the couch in a hurried, awkward move. "Do you want something to eat?"

"I ate on the plane," Carson replies. "One of the benefits of first class travel." He watches Rodney start pacing around the room, the scientist's hands gesturing wildly before him.

"I don't know why he came here." McKay shoots a dark look at him. "You, _you_ I can understand."

"Did you ever think we came for the same reason?" Carson asks, mildly. He feels like Kate, sat playing the neutral audience member.

"You and Sheppard?" McKay snorts. "Please. It's not like I'm stupid enough to buy your 'medical responsibility' line, Carson. He's here to get me back on Atlantis. You're just here to make sure we don't kill each other."

Ah. Rumbled.

He decides _not_ to be Kate, because she can only offer comments, and never criticism. And to hell with that.

"And you're angry at that, are you?" he demands, face heated.

"That Sheppard doesn't know me well enough to trust that I can make up my own mind? Yes, actually. Never mind that I've actually _told_ him." McKay scowls, an attitude which only serves to irritate Carson. "He's stubborn."

"He's not the only bloody one," he mutters, loud enough for Rodney to make out every word.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You, Rodney." He never meant to get this angry this quickly, but the scientist, like usual, is provoking that response. Carson has always considered himself a laid back, relaxed individual, able to take what personalities life threw at him.

That was before he met Rodney McKay.

"What?"

"Did you ever think that Sheppard _does_ know you? That we both do? Better than you'd like to think, aye, but well enough to know when you're making an idiot out of yourself!" He pushes himself to his feet, but does not make a move closer to McKay. "Yes, he came here to get you back to Atlantis. And why do you think that is?"

"Because he feels guilty," McKay shoots back. "My fault, possibly, but we've discussed that."

"You're wrong," he retorts. "He's here because of _himself_, Rodney. You left a right ruddy mess when you left, do you know that?"

He is gratified to see the scientist's cheeks turn pink.

"Someone already pointed that out, did they?"

"I know," McKay snaps. "Forgive me for not handling my _crippling injury_ with more grace!"

"I do," Carson says, softly. "So does the Colonel. That's why he's here, Rodney. To make sure you do."

The physicist stares at him for a long moment. Then his shoulders suddenly drop, his entire body slumping in defeat. "That's stupid," he says, but his words sound weak.

"Probably," Carson agrees. "But that's the truth. I'm sure he won't admit it, of course." He resumes his seat on the couch, and waits for Rodney to join him.

"He thinks I'm staying on Earth because I'm afraid to go back." Sighing, McKay drops onto the sofa beside him, stretching out his legs to prop his feet on the table. "It's not true."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Really? Then you explain it to me, Rodney. Why did you disappear from Antarctica? Why aren't you going back to Atlantis now you now can?"

McKay rubs his hands against his trouser legs, his left knee jiggling nervously. Beckett could almost feel sympathetic, if he weren't still so annoyed.

"Because." The scientist pauses, taking a deep breath. "I like it here."

Carson opens his mouth to protest, acting without thinking, but a raised hand from McKay makes him still.

"Look, no offence, Carson, but you've been here all of ten minutes. I'll admit it - I never thought I _could_ like it back on Earth, not after everything on Atlantis. But I do." Rodney pushes one hand against the other, entwining his fingers. "I _do_ have friends. I can date. I can _relax_. I've not had five minutes to myself since I stepped through the Stargate to Pegasus, but here that's different." He leans forward a little. "Tell me that doesn't sound appealing."

Beckett pauses, thinking of the past twelve months, of the past few years. Running from one crisis to another. "I suppose. But you have to know why that's so hard for me to understand, Rodney. You're right - Atlantis is stressful, dangerous. I won't disagree. Plenty have folded under the stress, and I've been close to that myself once or twice. But I've never seen that in you. Even when the Wraith were coming, and you and Radek were pumped high on stimulants…"

"Happy days," Rodney says, ruefully.

"You did it. You complained like anything, true, were quite the martyr at times - but it never seemed like you couldn't. That strength…" He stops, aware of overstepping boundaries, the lines of emotional discretion. "You've always seemed to thrive on that."

"Maybe I've changed." McKay shrugs, a careless, awkward gesture. "People say I have, you know. From Earth to Atlantis, and now back again."

"Maybe. But not that much." Carson's gaze drifts to Rodney's right leg. He can remember too clearly the cloying, rich smell of blood. Of cutting away cloth to find skin ripped to shreds, the sharp white of bone, torn muscle and nerves. "There are other reasons, of course. Atlantis isn't safe, not for any of us."

"No," Rodney says, quietly. "Well, we knew that when we went in."

"That's not the same as experiencing it." He swallows, his throat tight. "No one likes to think they might not come back."

"That isn't…" McKay pauses, clearly struggling for words. "I don't think of it like that."

"Rodney, what you experienced was very traumatic…"

"No," he insists. "It wasn't. Not the way you and Sheppard think, anyway." The scientist again pushes himself to his feet. "Do you want a drink?"

"I have one," he points out, gesturing towards the coke he hasn't yet touched.

"Right." McKay paces toward the kitchen, then turns, and heads back. "I don't remember," he says, his words tumbling over each other. "Not getting hit. Not getting Sheppard through the Stargate. I can remember running, and Sheppard giving the order to split up, and then, and then…" His voice breaks, a tiny fraction, and Carson realises with a jolt that this is the first time McKay has confessed any of this, to anyone. "He was down on the ground _bleeding _and I didn't know what to do."

"Your team have been in trouble before," Carson says, softly. "The Iratus bug…"

"I don't need examples," McKay interrupts, snapping. "I know, alright? But I wasn't - it wasn't just on _me_. Not before. But this time - I thought he was going to die. And I'm sick of it, I'm sick of people _dying_ on me."

"But you saved him," Carson replies gently, wishing he was really Heightmeyer, that he had her training. "You saved the Colonel's life."

"He told me to leave him," Rodney says, in such a rush the words come out as one: _'hetoldmetoleavehim.'_

"Aye," Beckett says, wearily, because he suspected as much. "But you didn't."

"No. I never thought - I wouldn't. But next time, if, _god_," again McKay's voice hitches, and there is a knot in Carson's chest which burns in sympathy, "if there was a next time, _I might."_

Then the scientist turns his head, and suddenly looks so spent, as though all his energy has been released in that one confession.

There is a knock at the door, and just as suddenly the mood of the room changes. McKay's physicality shifts, his back straightening, his shoulders lifting as he walks towards the apartment door to let Sheppard in. Carson can't look, can't bring himself to see the pretence, as Rodney greets the Colonel with a sardonic: "What took you so long?"

"Traffic," Sheppard says glibly, walking towards the kitchen, cradling two paper bags to his chest.

"The shop is only on the corner." McKay takes one of the bags off Sheppard, and follows him into the kitchen. "You sure you don't want something to eat, Carson?"

"No," the Scot replies, his stomach churning. "I'm not hungry."


	25. Chapter 25

_Author's Notes: I still don't like the last chapter. Alittlenobody, you got it exactly right, I just couldn't pinpoint those factors myself. Hopefully this chapter is smoother._

_There will probably be five chapters left to the fic. Roughly._

* * *

_Beckett_

McKay's 'friend' turns out to be a young lad in his twenties, with a personality Carson would never have expected to appeal to the Canadian. Hopelessly young and emotionally insecure, greeting the Scot with initial hostility before Sheppard intervenes.

"Don't take offence," the Colonel advises him, privately, when they are alone in the kitchen. "I think he's just protective of McKay. God knows why."

Carson lifts an eyebrow but doesn't comment. He retrieves several loaves of garlic bread from the oven, the kitchen warm with the smell of meatballs and spaghetti - a family special, Sheppard explained, and the only dish he knows how to make.

McKay had allowed the soldier run of the kitchen only under great duress, and had played back-seat chef for the entire experience, criticising everything from the way Sheppard prepared the meat to his method of draining pasta. Eventually Carson had to forcibly drag the physicist into the lounge to avoid Sheppard snapping. They watch a documentary on whales - the only show they can agree on - and catch the end of a news bulletin.

War in the Middle East. Murders. Corrupt politicians. Sometimes, Carson thinks, he prefers the Wraith.

And maybe the Orii don't need to lift a finger. Perhaps Earth will destroy itself.

They eat in front of the Twilight Zone, McKay not bothering to apologise for the absence of a dining table. Carson balances his plate on his knee, but soon stops the effort of clean eating when he sees Rodney carelessly spill tomato sauce onto the floor.

"You're a pig, McKay," Sheppard comments.

"I've been called worse."

Carson rolls his eyes in exasperation. He catches Brian watching from the armchair, the boy smiling, then hiding his expression behind his fork.

"So," he says, hoping to coax the boy into conversation, "How do you know Rodney then?"

"He works downstairs," McKay answers. "At reception. Security."

Beckett sighs, frustrated. "I didn't ask you, Rodney." He attempts annoyance, but fails. It hasn't escaped his attention the effect the boy's presence has had on both McKay and Sheppard. The two men are more relaxed, their banter free-flowing and natural. Infuriating, yes, but in a familiar way. Carson wonders if this is all they need - someone to distract them, to divert their focus from their own internal thoughts and fears, from the reticence they hide behind.

"Doctor McKay offered to give me astronomy lessons," Brian explains.

"Tell Carson why," Sheppard prompts, grinning.

Brian flushes. "I want to be an astrophysicist."

McKay splutters, coughing up beer. "You never told me that!"

"Rodney's made it seem that appealing, has he?" Carson asks sceptically, keeping one eye on his friend to make sure the scientist doesn't start turning blue.

"He gets to study stars for real," Brian explains. "Not out of a book. Black holes too. And red dwarfs."

Sheppard leans over and slaps the spluttering Canadian on the back. "How much did McKay tell you about his job?"

The boy shrugs, looking toward McKay. "You said you got to discover things before anyone else. Invent things that would help the whole planet. You could be the next Einstein."

"Einstein?" Sheppard repeats, his gaze meeting Carson's. "You hear that, McKay?"

"I'm right here," Rodney protests, having finally caught his breath. "And you didn't have to hit me so hard, Colonel - you nearly broke a rib!"

Carson, restraining a smile, leans back in his chair and pretends to be deep in thought.

Sheppard's tactics may be crude, obvious to all except Brian, but he isn't going to waste the opportunity provided.

He allowed Rodney to escape once. Not a second time.

"It makes me wonder," he says, casually, "why are you getting a new job if your old one was so wonderful?"

If looks could kill…. Carson winces.

"Why does it matter?"

"Well, it's only fair Brian should know the pros and cons," Sheppard says, and now they're ganging up on the scientist, and both subjected to a thunderous look.

"Working at a university doesn't sound so interesting," Brian admits, unwittingly.

"Sometimes," McKay says weakly, "you want a quieter life."

Carson frowns. "You're a long way from retirement, Rodney."

He almost feels bad for his friend, especially after their earlier conversation. But in four days the Daedalus leaves for Earth, and Beckett does not believe the SGC will allow Rodney to change his mind once the ship is out of orbit. On Atlantis he was unable to stop McKay's departure, to save him from becoming a victim to his own heroism. But he refuses to allow Rodney to become a victim of his own stubbornness.

And yet…

"_Next time, I might."_

He looks across at McKay, seeking more than the masquerade of anger and irritation.

Carson doesn't believe, for a moment, that Rodney _would_ leave Sheppard if events repeated themselves. But he suddenly wonders, if Pegasus can cause McKay to doubt himself to such an extent, is it _right_ that they force their friend back to face that?

"Sometimes," McKay says, hotly, "priorities change."

"What if you're wrong?" Sheppard asks. "There's no going back."

McKay scowls, shadows around his eyes. Pained, Carson abruptly changes his mind, and throws his friend a lifeline.

"I suppose you've thought about it," he says. "Weighed the positives against the negatives." He ignores the look Sheppard shoots him, one of confusion and betrayal.

McKay rolls his eyes, but Carson sees his shoulders relax slightly. "Of course I have. It's not like I grabbed the first job that came along."

"It seems like it," Sheppard says, coolly.

Carson winces.

McKay pushes himself out of his seat suddenly, the moment of relief evaporating. "Let's change the subject. Anyone need a drink?"

His beer bottle is still a third full, but Carson says yes, just to give Rodney a chance to escape.

Brian has curled up in the armchair, his legs folded beneath him, arms wrapped protectively around his chest. He looks between Sheppard and McKay's departing back, then turns to Beckett. "What are they arguing about?"

"We're not arguing," Sheppard retorts, a little too sharply for Carson's liking.

"A difference of opinion," he explains, gently. "We'd rather Rodney were working with us again."

"Sometimes I wonder why," Sheppard mutters, rising from his seat. "I'm gonna, uh…" He gestures at the bathroom, then slopes off towards it.

Again Carson winces. He is aware of Brian watching him, expectantly.

"What happened?"

"That's a very long story, lad." He sighs, jet lag taking its toll.

"They're friends, right?"

"Yes." Carson pauses. "Most of the time."

McKay suddenly appears from the kitchen, announcing his arrival by saying, loudly: "Drinks." He deposits several bottles onto the coffee table, and hands a bag of popcorn to Brian, who tears into it enthusiastically.

Carson watches the scientist take his seat, then speaks, lowering his voice. "I'm sorry, Rodney. We ganged up on you."

McKay scowls, refusing to look up. "You're beginning to resemble a broken record."

"I know. It won't happen again." He pauses, unwilling to admit defeat. "I just want you to do what's best."

"And I can't make up my own mind?"

"Yes. You can."

"Tell that to Sheppard," McKay retorts.

Carson glances towards the bathroom door. "He's just concerned. Why do you think he wants you to return?"

"Because it eases his guilt?" Rodney suggests. "Misplaced, by the way." The scientist glances at Brian, but the boy is busy crunching handfuls of popcorn. "Although I suppose that's my fault."

He frowns, confused by the comment. "What do you mean?"

McKay grimaces. "It doesn't matter now."

The scientist turns his head, but Carson suddenly realises he isn't willing to let the conversation end, to lose his momentum. Sheppard isn't the only one with responsibility, with unspoken words.

"Rodney…" he says, quietly, waiting for his friend to turn back to face him.

"What?"

"You do know, I tried _everything_…"

"I know," Rodney says, quickly. "I never said thank you." The scientist lifts his gaze to meet Carson's, and for a moment the Scot glimpses an honesty and deep sincerity he has never, ever seen before in McKay.

"I'd be dead if…"

And then Sheppard opens the bathroom door, the toilet flush loud and angry, and McKay looks away.

"The stars are out," the Canadian says, deliberately, targeting Brian. "It's a clear night. We should make the most of it."

Popcorn forgotten, discarded to the back of the chair, Brian leaps to his feet. As Carson watches, the boy goes to the cupboard on which the television sits, and fetches a small telescope and book. McKay gets out of his seat, then gestures for Carson to do the same.

"We need to move the couch a little," he explains. "It's easier using the living room window."

Feeling slightly bemused, Carson obediently gets up and helps Rodney shift the couch a foot to the left. The scientist pulls out a small, foldable table and sets the telescope up on its surface, so the lens points towards the window.

Sheppard stands at the other side of the room, watching them for a moment, before saying suddenly: "I'll clear up," and disappearing into the kitchen.

Sighing inwardly, Carson says nothing. Brian bounces across the room, book in hand, settling on the back of the sofa.

"Do you like astronomy?" he asks, looking at Carson.

The Scot smiles. "I'm afraid that's more Rodney's arena." He looks towards the kitchen. "I might help Colonel Sheppard, actually. Leave you two to it."

McKay snorts dismissively, taking a seat beside Brian. His face is flushed, and Carson recognises the slight signs of embarrassment, of the physicist attempting to hide his enthusiasm for a task that does not suit his prickly persona.

Beckett wonders whether the scientist will make a better teacher than anyone might suspect. The physicist's excitement for his subject cannot be doubted, but for the first time Carson starts to appreciate that excitement as attractive, to someone with an equal interest. If McKay can find minds quick and clear enough to keep up with his, then perhaps the scientist will thrive in academia.

Training the next recruits to Atlantis.

Maybe not. Carson isn't sure he knows anymore.

He heads into the kitchen. Sheppard is stood at the sink, filling the basin with hot and soapy water. The Colonel moves methodically, wiping the dishes with a sponge before setting them on the side to drip dry. Spotting a towel hung on the fridge door, Carson picks up the cloth and joins him, the two men standing shoulder to shoulder.

"Not star gazing?" Sheppard asks.

"Never really interested me," Carson admits.

"Huh. And look where you ended up."

He smiles ruefully. "Yes, I can see the irony. What about you, Colonel?"

"When I was a kid." The other man shrugs. "I was more interested in being in the sky than what was above it."

Carson picks up a glass and wipes it dry, glancing over his shoulder as he does. McKay and Brian sit in the other room, perched on the back of the sofa, poring over the pages of an astronomy book. Initially McKay's attitude had been one of nerves and awkwardness, as though afraid his professorship of his new friend would be judged by Carson and Sheppard. And Carson finds he _is_ judging him - though not negatively. He found the idea of McKay as a teacher a truly horrifying one, having seen the number of times Miko has been reduced to tears.

And yet, with a subject so willing to learn, to listen to words without interruption or uninvited comment, McKay seems to take to teaching.

"Don't you find it strange?" he asks, when Sheppard appears over his shoulder.

The Colonel follows his gaze to the other room, and shrugs. "At first."

"Rodney won't stop to help his own staff," Carson comments, frowning. "Radek, perhaps, but that's only because the two of them seem close to equals. But…" He pauses, lost for words. "Perhaps he'll do well at a university."

Sheppard snorts, and moves back to the stove. "Maybe. But there's a big difference McKay hasn't picked up on."

"Which is?"

"Brian doesn't have baggage. He's willing to listen to every word out of McKay's mouth because he wants to listen to _anything_. Hell, he listened to me for ten minutes last night telling him why Godfather Two is a better movie than one."

Privately Carson suspects Brian was merely being polite, but he doesn't say so. "Have you thought it possible that perhaps Rodney shouldn't go back to Atlantis?"

Sheppard frowns. His fingers scrub hard at the inside of a pan. "Can you really see him staying _here_? It's McKay. He's not happy unless he's got an Ancient device to take apart."

"Maybe," he concedes. "But if that is true, why would he want to stay here?"

"He's stubborn. There are brick walls who fold sooner."

"There are those who would say the same thing about you, Colonel." He sighs, tired of playing diplomat. "Have you talked about what happened?"

"Sure," Sheppard drawls. "Filling Heightmeyer's shoes, doc?"

He feels himself prickle with anger, and has to bite back a stinging retort.

"Do _you_ think he should stay here?"

Carson bristles. "I didn't say that, Colonel."

"Then what the hell was that before? I thought we were on the same page." The other man scowls darkly. "Apparently not."

He sighs, looking down at the towel in his hands. "I just think the situation is a little less black and white than you think."

"Then he's told you something he hasn't told me, because from where I stand things are pretty damn simple."

"We talked," he admits. "Briefly."

"And?"

Carson is silent for a moment. It isn't his place to betray McKay's confidence, even if, as he believes, the truth expressed is not a reality. "Life on Pegasus isn't easy."

"It isn't for anyone."

"No. But it's been brought home to Rodney." He pauses, deciding to try a different tactic. "Why are you so determined he return?"

Sheppard turns away. "Because he's being an idiot if he thinks staying here is the right decision."

"That doesn't answer my question, Colonel." He sees the man's shoulders slump, his hands stilling. Pressing onwards, Carson says, risking everything: "Forcing Rodney back to Pegasus won't change what happened." Then he stops, waiting with apprehension.

Sheppard doesn't move, doesn't so much as twitch. The silence stretches for so long that Carson wonders whether the Colonel will erupt – or, worse, if he will not react at all, consumed by his own stubbornness.

Their return flights to Colorado are booked for the morning after the next. A final stop at the SGC before they spend the next three weeks aboard the Pegasus. Carson does not want to spend the journey in the company of the same John Sheppard who has been stalking the corridors of Atlantis. Shadowy and hostile and broken.

"It can't go on like this," he says, sharply. "You and Rodney are too stubborn for your own good. You might be right, he might be making a mistake, but that's his decision. Personally I'm beginning to think he'll surprise us. But I _do_ know that if you can't bring yourself to wish him well then it would be better if you had stayed on Atlantis."

Then he turns, heart beating hard and fast, deliberately leaning past Sheppard towards the sink. "Pass me that bowl, would you?" He is aware of the Colonel staring at him, but keeps his own gaze fixed on the countertop. After a moment the soldier reaches out and picks up the bowl, passing it across wordlessly.

Carson starts wiping it with the towel, then puts it to one side and repeats the action with a plate.

"I've lost too many people," Sheppard says suddenly, addressing his hands. "In the past. People I… you know."

"Aye," Carson says, not because he _does_, but because he can guess.

"I suppose I should be thankful I get a chance to say goodbye, this time."

He puts the plate down on the kitchen surface. He can hear raised voices from the other room; Brian with excitement and enthusiasm, McKay's a familiar annoyed whine.

"Sheppard, will you get in here?"

The Colonel pulls his hands free of the foam and dries them on a second towel. Beckett waits for him to take the lead, following the man into the living room.

McKay is sitting on the floor, awkwardly, the poker table propped up by his shoulder. One of the table legs is lying on the floor amidst poker chips and cards. Brian is crouching beside him, attempting to collect the pieces, but as Carson approaches he can tell the boy is distracted by the table and McKay's predicament.

"I hate this thing," the scientist moans bitterly, as Sheppard lifts the table from his shoulder. "It's cheap and tacky and overpriced junk!"

Carson bends to retrieve the escaped leg. "What happened?"

"Spot was chasing a bottle cap," Brian explains, pointing at the culprit. The cat is sitting on its haunches beside the couch, looking past them disinterestedly. "He knocked the table. It started to wobble, and Doctor McKay tried to stop it."

"And became part of the furniture," McKay complains, clambering to his feet. "For something made of plastic that thing is damn heavy. I've pulled a muscle, strained something. My back is in agony. I won't be able to move tomorrow!"

Ignoring him, Carson crouches and starts to help Brian pick up the last few remaining pieces.

"You were the engineer," Sheppard points out, fixing the missing table leg back into place.

"If you make one comment about a workman blaming his tools I'll throw the damn thing out of the window," McKay snaps, rubbing his shoulder aggrievedly.

"Can we play?" Brian asks, eagerly.

"Now?" The scientist glances at his watch. "It's late."

"Just a couple of games. I like poker."

Carson looks up, surprised. "You know how to play?"

"My aunt taught me." Brian gathers up the cards and cuts the deck, his fingers light and dexterous, shuffling them with practised ease.

Sheppard raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "This should be interesting."

* * *

_Sheppard_

Despite McKay's complaints, Sheppard decides the purchase of a poker table is one of his better ideas.

There is little to do in the locality of McKay's apartment, and there are only so many science fiction shows he can watch before his brain starts to melt. The poker table provides a good distraction, a way he and McKay can spend time in each other's company without arriving at another argument.

As satisfying as it was to hit Rodney, Sheppard does not want to make a habit of it. The scientist doesn't deserve it – not as much as he might, at times, joke.

They play for a good hour. Rodney, inevitably, proves to be completely useless. His memory and ability with numbers might make him an excellent card counter, but the Canadian is a hopeless bluffer, his poker face non-existent. Carson's playing is adequate, the Scot winning a couple of hands; but his prize is always small, and he loses more than he wins.

Brian is the surprise of the night. The boy reveals an ability at deception that impresses Sheppard, and starts him thinking about whether Brian is as naïve as he appears, or whether it is a mask of his own, used to hide from the judgment of the external world.

Whatever the reason, Sheppard compares the piles of M&Ms and finds his woefully lacking. McKay, inevitably, uses this as a source of ridicule.

"Are you sure you've played this game before, Colonel?"

"McKay," he growls. He isn't about to justify his technique by referring to the hours wasted in foreign deserts, moments of silence before a storm. "You know what they say about people in glass houses."

The scientist looks down at his own handful of remaining M&Ms. "I'm biding my time. Waiting for a big win."

Brian laughs, then looks appropriately apologetic when McKay glares at him. "Sorry."

Sheppard grins, reaching out to deal the cards. "Well, you'd better hurry up, McKay. It's getting late. I'd hate for you to finish empty handed. Or in debt," he adds, pointedly.

Scowling, Rodney snatches the cards handed to him.

Sheppard grins, amused by his friend's hostility. Then he pauses, struck by a sudden wave of homesickness.

The scene doesn't feel real. With Ronon and Teyla missing it seems fragmented, a reminder of an experience which should have happened elsewhere, at a different time. Why, Sheppard wonders, has he never tried to teach the Satedan cards? Or Teyla? Why does he only think of it now?

Maybe Beckett is right. Maybe he is only thinking of himself, of the way McKay's decision affects him.

The past few months, aboard Atlantis… McKay isn't the only one to have been an ass, but even at the time Sheppard recognised his anger was misplaced. Is he making the same mistake? Clinging to the idea of Rodney's idiocy because it is easier than the alternative?

Sheppard cannot shake the belief that he is the only one entitled to risk his life for anyone else. Especially when it comes to McKay, a civilian and a friend. Why, then, does he begrudge the scientist an escape from that life?

He glances at Carson, intrigued by the Scot's sudden acceptance of McKay's decision. Wondering at what was said to change the doctor's mind.

Brian wins the next round, mostly because Sheppard is no longer paying attention. His triumph is tinged with disappointment, however, as the boy looks at his watch and sighs.

"I should go."

McKay grimaces, pushing back his chair. "Your mother will wonder where you are."

"She knows where I am, but…" Brian shrugs. "It's late."

"You can come back tomorrow," Sheppard suggests. "Finish the game. Wave me and Carson off."

"You're leaving?"

Beckett nods, as he gathers up the cards neatly. "The morning after tomorrow."

Brian's gaze flits towards the physicist, his sorrow apparent, poker face failing. "And then you'll be leaving soon too."

"Yes," McKay replies, and Sheppard can hear an odd note of regret in his friend's voice. "Not for a while yet, though."

Sensing maudlin, Sheppard pushes back his own chair and gets to his feet. "You should take your winnings," he advises, gesturing at the pile of candy.

Brian shrugs, glancing at McKay. "You can have them."

Rodney looks down at his own, pitiful store. "Pity," he sniffs. "Typical. You know I was just leading you all into a false sense of security."

"Right," Sheppard drawls. He puts a hand on the boy's back. "We'll play again tomorrow. You can team up with McKay, help him win some."

Brian laughs, both at Sheppard's comment and McKay's obvious sense of disgust. Some of the tension in the air eases.

Rodney guides the boy to the door, while Sheppard turns and helps Carson clear up the table. He helps himself to McKay's remaining M&Ms, scooping them up into his mouth while the Scot rolls his eyes. He hears Rodney and Brian exchange words, then the door close.

After several moments McKay returns, looking uncomfortable. He stands watching Sheppard and Carson tidy, before eventually John turns and asks: "You okay?"

"Hmm?" The scientist looks up, his gaze distant. "Yes. Sorry."

"Brian will be sorry when you leave," Carson says, sympathetically.

"Yes, well…" McKay coughs. "He'll cope." He moves away, towards the kitchen.

Remembering the look of dejection on Brian's face, Sheppard acts on compulsion, leaving Beckett behind to clear the table, following the scientist into the kitchen.

"Hey."

McKay looks up, startled. "You did the dishes," he says, as though he can hide behind the blasé, the meaningless.

"Most of them." Sheppard shrugs. "Someone had to. The place was starting to look like one of my old barracks."

"Hmm." Rodney turns, and pretends to examine one of the glasses.

"Look," Sheppard says, quickly, because he isn't sure he can say this if he stops to think. "About before. You know…"

"Yes," the scientist says, his voice tight and brittle. "I know."

"I'm sorry. I…" He shrugs, although from the position they stand in, he knows McKay can't see it. "You can come back. I realise it…" And damn, because he isn't good at this, and Teyla might be able to express her emotions and prompt the scientist into action, but he can't. He can barely force himself. "Well, I just don't mean the job. You know that. But if you, well, if you decide differently, then that's your choice. I just - I want to make sure it's the right one." He pauses. "Is it?"

He hears McKay sigh, a great release of breath and tension. "I think so."

"Okay." Sheppard forces his hands into his pockets, feeling awkward. "You know I'd - well, obviously…"

"Obviously," Rodney says, and turns. His eyes are startlingly clear and blue. "I'm not staying because of what happened, Colonel. As much as at times the world seems to revolve around Colonel John Sheppard, you aren't a factor in my decision. Although," he pauses, briefly. "I wasn't sure I _could_ go back. That it was even an option. After, well…"

"The 'ass' note," Sheppard says, allowing himself a slight grin.

"Something like that." McKay coughs, and turns away. "I just wanted to say, I'm glad you came. Proved me wrong. However rare that occurrence."

His grin widens. "Ever the egotist, McKay."

"Realist," his friend corrects. He looks back into the room beyond. "What's Carson doing?"

Sheppard glances toward the living room. "Still tidying."

"Huh." McKay lifts an eyebrow, raising his voice. "He'll make someone a wonderful wife one day."

"I heard that!" comes back a reply, shouted from the other room. Carson appears at the kitchen entrance, scowling blackly, looking between the pair. "Someone has to keep track of you two, before you disappear under your own filth!"

"A little harsh," Sheppard comments. He looks toward the table, and the neatly stacked cards. The atmosphere of the room feels more relaxed, his own fears settling.

Over the course of his career he has lost too many people. McKay was almost another name in a long line of dead. If this is the alternative, then Sheppard realises he can accept that.

"Another game?"


	26. Chapter 26

_Author's Notes: I hope you all enjoyed New Year. Apologies for the delay._

_In answer to a few questions reviewers have raised: oops, you've spotted the deliberate mistake; no, I haven't written this part in advance, I'm writing it as I go along, which explains the wait between each chapter; it should finish in half a dozen chapters; and yes, I know where McKay will end up on Atlantis or not... mwhahaha..._

* * *

_McKay_

There is a Starbucks across the road from the hospital. McKay takes refuge within its cream walls and green finish, just as he has so many times before. He arrives early, ensuring he has plenty of time to get his food and find a seat before Maggie gets here.

He can't let her see him standing, of course. Brian might buy into the acupuncture theory but she won't. The ebony stick leans into a corner of the window frame to his right, placed in a location where Maggie will see. Visual props, Sheppard had told him, were half the battle. The power of suggestion.

Not that McKay has told them why he is here. Only that he has unfinished business, a matter he needs to handle before he moves.

He orders coffee and chocolate cake, hoping the mix of caffeine and sugar will give him the rush he needs to get through this clearly, without emotional upheaval. To provide the distance he wishes he had.

Maggie appears in the doorway, making perfect time. McKay watches the way she looks around the shop, searching him out, smiling when she finally spots him.

He waves, letting her know she has been seen, then waits while she buys her own drinks; herbal tea and an oversized muffin. Rodney finds it odd to see her out of a professional setting, dressed in jeans and a white pullover instead of the close fitting sports outfit he is used to.

He is nervous, irrationally so. Not just because he feels she will see through the lie, question his sudden renewed health; but because she has always been honest with him, brutally so at times, and he feels lying to her now will be a betrayal of that. It does not matter that he has no choice.

Perhaps it is that honesty he fears the most.

She comes across to the table, greeting him with a wide smile. "McKay. Fancy seeing you here."

McKay waits for her to take a seat. "I wasn't sure you would come."

"An invitation from my favourite patient? How could I say no?" She takes a sip of her drink, the aroma rising in thin wisps of steam. "So where've you been?"

"A professional emergency," he explains. "There was a crisis at the company I worked for."

"And they needed your expertise?" she teases. "Couldn't do without you?"

"Something like that." He pokes at the chocolate cake, in no mood for humour. "I'm sorry I didn't cancel my appointments."

"No phones at your office?"

"It was somewhat of a rush."

She shrugs. "Well, the apology is appreciated. How are you?"

"Fine. Actually…" He hesitates. "That's sort of why I asked you here. I wanted to thank you."

Maggie lifts an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous."

"Yes, well…" McKay coughs. "I'm afraid I won't be seeing you anymore."

"Cheating on me?" she asks, smiling.

"Moving."

"Ah." She folds her hands around the mug, taking another sip. "Far away?"

"Far enough." He lays the fork down on the plate. "It's a professorship at a university. My own lab, my own students…"

"To order around and mould after yourself?" she asks. "Minions?"

"Learning from the best."

"I suppose I should congratulate you."

He detects a note of uncertainty in her voice. "You suppose?" He cannot hide his anger; expecting to hear protests from Sheppard and Carson, pleas forced by misplaced guilt and regret - but not from her.

Maggie shrugs. "I just meant that I'd miss you."

He scowls. "You're a terrible liar."

"Takes one to know one," Maggie replies, and for a minute McKay thinks his deception has been uncovered. No longer the invalid, or the patient.

Then, "I don't think this is what you want to do."

He blinks, his relief at finding his paranoia misplaced evaporating in the wake of her accusation. "What?"

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, McKay, but you don't sound particularly enthusiastic." Maggie leans back in her chair, forking a piece of cake.

"Well," Rodney protests, "What am I supposed to do? Cheer? Dance on the table?"

Her eyes sparkle. "Now _that_ I'd like to see."

He ignores her. "Why does nobody believe me when I tell them I _want_ to do this? I'm actually looking forward to it, you know? But apparently I'm a child, incapable of making my own decisions without…"

"McKay," she interrupts, firmly. "Don't make me get a giant butterfly net."

He scowls, but obediently slumps into his chair, muttering about know it all physicians.

"I guess I touched a nerve," she says, apologetically.

He winces. "No, it's just…"

"You told someone else, and they had the same reaction? Who? Family, friend…"

"Friend," he replies, sulkily, poking at the chocolate cake.

"So what does he think you should be doing?"

McKay hesitates, afraid of moving into territory he should stay clear of. "My old job. He came to tell me there's still a position for me."

"Ah. But you don't want to go back." She tilts her head to the left quizzically. "Why? Don't tell me you're afraid of not physically being up to the challenge. I wouldn't believe you."

He grimaces at her unwitting perception. "No. It isn't that."

"So?"

He hesitates. How much can he admit, without telling her the full truth? And what would be the point?

An objective point of view, a small voice in his head reminds him. Hearing the opinion of someone with no emotional role to play. A hope for some light shed on his own muddled thoughts.

"I never told you how I was injured," he says, disarmingly.

She smiles wryly. "You never told me the truth."

"Classified."

Maggie stares at him for a moment. "Oh my god. You're serious."

McKay winces, aware that without breaking the rules, he is still stepping dangerously close to a line the SGC would not want him to cross. But it is too hard to have to lie, easier to say that some things cannot be discussed.

To shape the truth without identifying it.

He clears his throat. "Yes."

Her gaze lingers for a moment longer, then breaks off. Maggie smiles, in an obvious but appreciated attempt to diffuse her shock. "I suppose it was heroic," she jokes. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

He flushes. "As a matter of fact, it _was_ heroic. There was an accident. Someone was hurt. I brought them to safety."

"A colleague?" she asks, perceptively.

His throat is dry. "Yes. And a friend."

"Did he survive?"

He nods, short and fast.

"Okay." Maggie pauses, and Rodney wonders at her thoughts, at whether his story will be believed - or worse, if she will want to know more.

"I suppose I never really believed you were in a car crash."

"No." He puts his hands beneath the table, out of sight, and closes them into fists. Over the pleasant aroma of coffee and pastries and warm bodies, McKay can still smell blood.

He can always smell it, without Sheppard's presence to assure him it is only a memory.

"You know…"

"I know," Maggie says, gently.

He nods, thankful. He does not need to pretend with her; she has seen his scars, his medical record. His near freak-out on a massage table.

"Is it always that dangerous?"

"Most of the time."

"Huh." She nods, thoughtfully. "Let me guess. This friend you mentioned, the one who offered you your job back - this is the same guy you helped?"

"Yes." His coffee is turning cold, tasting bitter against his tongue, but McKay wants something wet, something to extinguish the burning at the back of his throat.

"If you were anyone else, McKay, I'd believe you if you said you didn't want to go back to that. Even if you do say it, I'd support you. But there's something else. It can't be that simple, right?"

Again he pauses, the words coming with difficulty. "When I… when I was injured, when I couldn't continue to do my job, I didn't, ah, handle it very well."

"Let me guess. You were an ass, to everyone, particularly those closest to you?"

He looks up, staring at her. "That wasn't a guess. How did you…"

"Because you're not that unique," she says simply. "And I've done this job too long not to be able to see it."

He snorts. "You should have been on At… at the company." He pulls his hands up from beneath the table and lays his palms flat against its surface. "I wasn't particularly pleasant."

Maggie gasps, a sound of mock surprise. "You, McKay? You surprise me." She pauses, her expression changing to one of sympathy. "So you said some things you shouldn't have. People forgive."

"Apparently," he says, wishing she weren't so perceptive. "But…"

"There's a but?"

"I'm not stupid," he says, quickly. "People say things they don't mean. I know. I said a few things of my own. It doesn't have to be a lie - just saying what immediately comes to mind. And there might be feelings that confuse things. Like guilt."

"Huh." Maggie is silent for a moment, gaze fixed on her coffee cup. Then she looks up. "You're wrong. You _are_ stupid."

McKay bristles. "What?"

"If your friend travelled to see you, to tell you this in person when a phone call would have done - that tells me he's being honest with you. But," she shrugs, "I'm only an outsider. Maybe I'm wrong." Her eyes narrow. "Maybe, you already _knew_ that, and this is about something else."

"Like?"

"Like maybe you're not worried about yourself. Sure, you make a good show, but you're not as self-centred as you like to pretend to be." Maggie lowers her voice and leans forward. "How likely is it that you'll be stuck in the same position?"

McKay crinkles his forehead, momentarily thrown. "What position?"

"I'm guessing your work there is pretty important, right?" She holds up her hands quickly. "Classified, I know. But then that basically answers my question."

"You're right," he allows, slowly. "But I don't see what this has to do with…"

"With you deciding to say no?" She shrugs. "You tell me. But I'd bet good money that you're more concerned with what will happen to them than to you."

"It's dangerous," he says, thickly. "The people I know - friends - well, it's not a safe place to be. And I've done the whole, heroism thing. It isn't as thrilling as it sounds. I don't want to have to do that again."

Maggie nods, then asks a question which steals McKay's breath from him. "Aren't you worried what will happen if you're not there to protect them?"

He stares at her. "What?"

"I don't want to guess what sort of work your job involves, McKay. But you're pretty transparent. And you forget what I do for a living, who my patients are. They're not all car crash victims or old people with new hips." She presses her lips together, briefly. "Firemen, soldiers, police officers. Do you think I've not seen this before?"

Feeling like he's in a session with an unusually brusque Heightmeyer, McKay shakes his head. "You don't…"

"I've not been through it, but I get it. PTSD, McKay. Or something close to it. And you - sometimes I think…" She breaks off, shaking her head. "Look, maybe I'm missing the big picture, but I don't see the problem. You loved the job, right?"

He nods. There is no good pretending otherwise; McKay loves Atlantis, her silver spires and dark underbelly, the fine crystals holding her together, the way he can make her sing.

"You yelled at your friends - big deal, they say they're not bothered anymore, and you know they're not lying. I don't buy you as the cowardly type - scared, sure, I don't blame you, but no one who was a coward would have done what you did - so I don't think that's holding you back. So?"

McKay takes a moment before answering, his hands clenching into fists. "What if it happens again?"

"You don't mean your injury?"

"No."

"You mean your friend?"

He nods.

Maggie raises an eyebrow. "See, if you're worried about the danger he puts himself in, wouldn't it make more sense to go along and make sure he doesn't do that?"

"It's not that simple."

"Why not? You explain it to me…"

"Because history," he says, harshly, "repeats itself."

She smiles, sadly. "You said it was dangerous."

"Right."

"But didn't you know that before?"

He blinks at her, feeling lost. "What?"

"Come on, McKay." She leans over and pokes him in the arm, gently. "Don't try and tell me you didn't know what the job involved before you took it? I doubt they kept it classified from you."

"Alright," McKay concedes. "I knew there would be an element of risk but that's a lot different to experiencing it first hand." He breaks off, pulling back in his chair.

He does not want to think of the near misses. Of those that have been lost. But it is too hard to deny - not after spending time with Carter and SG1, not after reading mission reports.

He knew Pegasus would be dangerous before he stepped foot in the galaxy.

It isn't the same, he tells himself. It isn't like seeing it first hand and being the only one able to act, to staunch another person's blood with his fingers, so helpless…

_Antarctica, _a small voice reminds him.

It isn't the same.

_No? Carter called because she was desperate, because Atlantis needed its chief scientist back. Because you were the only one who could fix it._

"McKay?" Maggie prompts, gently.

"Sorry," he mumbles, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

"This is where you tell me I'm right."

"Oh, well…" McKay hesitates for a moment, before conceding reluctantly: "maybe."

She grins. "I knew it."

"Smugness isn't attractive," he tells her, huffily.

"Neither is being a sore loser," Maggie teases. Then she sobers, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Let's just forget the last ten minutes of conversation, shall we? Go back to me saying congratulations." She pauses. "I'll just assume you know what you're doing."

"I do," he says, and finds he has to hide his uncertainty.

"Then good luck. I'll miss you, McKay."

Rodney is aware of his cheeks flushing with warmth. "Really?"

"Really."

"I suppose doctor-patient confidentiality means I shouldn't write?"

"Well, you won't be my patient any more, so I suppose it's allowable. I might not write back, of course," she adds, mischievously.

"And a date…"

"Is out of the question."

"Hmm." McKay tries not to sound too disappointed, figuring it was worth a try.

"If you need a recommendation for my replacement…"

"I'll call," he says quickly.

"Okay." Maggie glances at her watch, frowning. "Damn. I've got to get back to the hospital."

"Sven the Swede?"

"Aida the eighty year old." She rises from her seat, then leans over to kiss him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, McKay. I did mean it when I said I'll miss you."

"Oh, well…" he coughs, his throat scratchy. "You too. Although I can't say the same for the medieval torture you practice."

"Tough love," she says, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll see you around, McKay."

He watches her walk out of Starbucks, feeling a mix of sadness and remorse. The past few months suddenly seem to have flown by, and from being terrified of his return to Earth, McKay now wonders if he is too scared to leave.

Was Sheppard right? Is this another form of cowardice?

He will miss Maggie. She is only the second person, in his entire life, who has been able to convince him there is any worth in the medical profession. McKay also realises that she represents his success at rebuilding his life - her, and Brian, and Suzanne. He has confidence that he can do the same again, in a new place.

But suddenly he doesn't have to. And McKay wonders if he has spent so long trying to adjust to Earth, he is now afraid to adjust back.

He takes a sip of his coffee, now stone cold.

_I can't do it again. If it happens again. And it _will

He isn't naïve. Atlantis is dangerous. Life there kills people. It nearly killed him, _twice_.

How many more times can he uproot his life, lose everything and start again?

What reason is there to go back?

And what reason is there to stay?

* * *

The last night passes without argument. No mention of Atlantis, or the wisdom of McKay's choice to stay on Earth. They spend the time watching Star Trek movies – six and eight – and eating box upon box of take away pizza. They play poker – McKay loses, again. Brian teaches Sheppard a card trick, Sheppard returns the favour, and the pair spend an hour or more inflicting their new skills on Beckett. They look at the stars, the night sky clear and unblemished by clouds or light pollution.

McKay does not think about the dangers of Pegasus. He does not thinks of spending long nights in the lab with Radek, or movie evenings with Teyla and Ronon, or debating Dawkins with Elizabeth. He does not think of the Genii, or the Wraith, or Michael. He does not imagine Aiden's grandparents waiting for their grandson's return to the family table, or Peter's brother holding a funeral without a body to mourn.

He does not, at any point, allow himself to consider the possibility that Sheppard and Carson…

That _this_ time…

The last time…

"_Aren't you worried what will happen if you're not there to protect them?"_

"Doctor McKay?"

He looks up, startled. Brian is stood beside the couch, offering him a bowl of something smelling strongly of sugar. He stares at it suspiciously, trying to work out how five scoops of ice cream are able to defy the laws of physics by remaining balanced atop each other. "What is it?"

"A Sheppard speciality," the Colonel says breezily, appearing from the kitchen. He holds a bowl in each hand, and a bottle of something tucked under one arm. "Four types of ice cream, brownie, marshmallows, walnuts, and a few additional extras of my own."

Carson, sat in the armchair, stares at his own portion with a critical eye. "It looks like a bloody heart attack in a bowl."

"The _weak_ might say that." Sheppard puts the two bowls down onto the table, then plucks the bottle from beneath his arm and offers it to McKay.

There is something dark smeared on the back of the Colonel's hand, brown and ugly. Rodney stares at the mark, and does not smell blood.

"Oh," Sheppard says, handing the bottle off and lifting his hand to his mouth. He licks the back, then rubs it on his trousers. "Some of the syrup got away."

Rodney pulls back and forces his mind to the present, commenting in his best sarcastic tone: "Did you use the same sense of food hygiene to make the meatballs the other night?"

"You didn't get salmonella, did you?"

McKay groans. His fingers tighten around a bottle of what he now identifies as maple syrup. "It's hot."

"It tastes better hot. Just trust me, McKay." Sheppard drops onto the couch and picks up a spoon. "Eat it before it melts."

Obediently, but with a great show of reluctance, McKay takes a spoonful of ice cream. The sugar and cold set his teeth on edge, but the sensation is worth suffering for the taste – chocolate and syrup and vanilla and something else…

"Brandy," Sheppard supplies, before McKay can ask. "Only for those age appropriate."

Brian seems oblivious, downing his ice cream at a rate that astonishes even McKay's stomach.

"This amount of sugar at this time of night?" Carson still hasn't touched his serving, looking a little concerned. "We'll never sleep."

Sheppard shrugs. "We can sleep on the flight."

Carson frowns, but takes a mouthful of the ice cream, as though obliged to.

"Are you packed?" McKay asks, not because he believes Sheppard has much to add to his small holdall, but because he has glimpsed the gifts in Beckett's.

"Aye," Carson says, then grimaces. "I'd like to have seen my mum for longer. Not that this hasn't been fun, but neither of you lads can cook like her."

"And this doesn't count?" Sheppard asks, his tone wounded.

"As _interesting_ as this is, no." Carson swallows another, small mouthful of ice cream. McKay suspects the desert will have melted by the time the Scot finally finishes. "My mum makes the best you've ever tasted. Roast potatoes, parsnip, stuffing - you can't even buy decent sausages over here."

"Is _that_ what your suitcase is full of?"

Rodney is ignored. "I'm sure she'd invite you to stay, if you could be trusted to behave."

Sat curled up in a corner of the couch, Brian grins. "I'd like to see Scotland."

"Everyone should see Scotland at least once," Beckett says, wistfully.

"You're the only one I know who could travel more than any tourist, and still complain about not being home," Rodney says. "I don't see what's so interesting about Scotland, other than a plethora of sheep."

"And Canada is so fascinating?" Sheppard asks, a trap McKay knew he was setting himself up for. "You're _staying_ here."

"Do you travel a lot?" Brian asks, anxiously.

"It's not as great as it sounds," Rodney tells him. He thinks of Iratus bugs and Wraith, of not being able to trust that the native smiling so welcomingly isn't hiding a knife behind his back.

McKay sees the Colonel looking at him, mouth quirked into an odd, sad smile. "Yeah, there are bad points. Stress, no stability…"

"No home cooking," Carson says, mournfully.

McKay scoffs. "You have a one track mind."

"But it's got it's good points too," Sheppard continues. "Every day is different. New scenery, good looking women…"

McKay nearly chokes on a marshmallow.

"… great friends."

Wiping his mouth, Rodney lifts his head and meets the Colonel's gaze straight on. "That's true."

"It sounds exciting," Brian says. "I don't know why you would want to stay here. Although I'm glad you are." His cheerfulness falters as he turns to McKay. "I wish you were staying for longer."

"I'm not going _that_ far," McKay says, then corrects himself: "relatively speaking. I'll still keep in touch."

"You'd better." Sheppard scrapes his spoon around the inside of his bowl. "You've never been very good at it in the past."

"Pot and kettle," McKay reminds him. He dips his finger in the melted ice cream, and licks off vanilla and fudge.

"I expect care packages. Popcorn, beer…"

"Playboy?" McKay suggests, straight-faced.

Sheppard grabs a cushion and throws it at him, startling Spot from his seat on the arm of the couch. "Sports Illustrated."

"Equally highbrow."

"I could lend you some comics," Brian suggests, optimistically. ""I've got lots."

Sheppard sinks back into his chair. "That would be great, and I appreciate the offer, but I couldn't guarantee you'd ever get them back. I tend to be careless with stuff."

McKay snorts, amused by the vision of a well-thumbed copy of Ultimate X-Men passing through the halls of Atlantis.

He feels relaxed, the most he has in the company of others in a long time. Now that he and Sheppard have come to an understanding - however awkward and confusing - their natural back and forth has resumed. He can trust his companions, not worry about perceptions. Not that he ever really has, before now - but here he knows there will be no judgments.

He thinks back to Maggie's words in the coffee shop.

"_Who? Family, friend…"_

"_Friend…"_

More than that.

Life is unfair, McKay thinks, bitterly. Punishing him for his mistakes by denying him a chance at a combined existence. If he could bring Atlantis here, bring its people to Earth, assure their safety and his own…

But he can't.

Sheppard accused him of being a coward. Scared to face life in Pegasus.

And he is. He is _afraid_, of all of it. Of running to the gate and being blown forward with heat, of waking up in the infirmary to Beckett, to his friend's expression, the Scot unable to hide his emotions. A terrible poker face.

Of waking up and _worse_, seeing Sheppard's cot empty.

"_Go. Go, McKay…"_

"Rodney?"

Carson touches his arm, and McKay jumps involuntarily. He looks up to see that Sheppard and Brian have disappeared into the kitchen, taking the bowls of ice cream with them.

"What?"

"You looked like you were on a different planet, for a moment." Carson's mouth twitches. "No pun intended."

"Oh…"

"Penny for your thoughts?"

He winces. Carson, of all people, does not need reminding of his own mortality, or of those around him. Not after Ellia, and not after Michael.

McKay isn't _that_ insensitive.

"You know, if you're having second thoughts…"

"Are you?" he asks, sharply.

Carson frowns. "Me?"

"What you were saying before, about Scotland, about your mother. Come on, Carson. Don't tell me you don't feel homesick - I've seen you mope around the infirmary, whining about how nothing is as good as your mother's cooking, and you miss the hills, and the lakes, and the trees or some such rubbish…"

"Alright Rodney," Beckett says, gruffly. He takes a seat beside the physicist, and crosses his arms defensively. "Yes. You know I do. When I think of my mum, and home, and every time I have to say goodbye to her…" The Scot breaks off, his voice strangled.

Rodney grimaces. "Oh, I didn't say you could be homesick _now_…"

"You can be bloody obnoxious sometimes," Beckett mutters, clearing his throat. "Yes, Rodney. I miss home."

"But you never think about staying?"

"I suppose, sometimes…" Carson sighs heavily. "Aye. It's crossed my mind. This past year particularly." There are shadows beneath his eyes, the dim light of the apartment making the Scot seem drawn and tired.

McKay feels guilty for raking up bad memories for his friend, but he wants answers - _needs_ them, if he is to move on with his life. "So why don't you?"

Carson frowns, looking melancholic. "My dad died while I was at university. I never told you that, did I? I came home for my mother, but she sent me right back. My mum always says, it's no good having a heart in two places. You have to see one thing through, before you can concentrate on the other." He smiles, fondly. "When I'm at home I miss Atlantis. I suppose I'm not through there, not yet." He pauses, glancing at Rodney. "If you're having second thoughts…"

"I don't know," McKay confesses. He looks toward the kitchen, where he can hear Sheppard and Brian talking animatedly about comic book heroes. "Don't mention this to the Colonel."

Beckett pulls a face. "Rodney, you haven't much time to make up your mind."

"I know that," he snaps. "And I didn't say I was going to go back, Carson, I'm just re-evaluating my choices."

Carson cocks an eyebrow at him. "Re-evaluating? That's a new one, Rodney."

"What is?" Sheppard says, suddenly appearing from the kitchen.

McKay shifts awkwardly in his seat, searching for an excuse. "Cooking," he says, figuring that given their recent discussion, it is a plausible lie.

"You should have seen the kitchen when I first arrived," Sheppard says, grinning. "Flour all over the place. You think his lab is a state…"

His lab.

Set up the way he wants. A laptop on each bench, for easy access. Coffee pot in the corner, with Miko as guard dog, ensuring it never empties. Simpson, intelligent but always two steps behind, yet reliable and accurate. The only one, aside from Radek, whose reports he doesn't attack with red pen. Zelenka, and their rapport, the give and take McKay suspects makes him a better scientist - even if he will never admit it.

There will not be a Zelenka at the university. His students will be cowed; the fellow professors will be resentful. McKay has been there before.

It doesn't have to be like that, he tells himself. He should know by now that not all his fears are founded in reality.

"McKay?"

He looks up. Sheppard is frowning at him, appearing concerned.

"You with us?"

"I was thinking," he says, slowly, "if you could take something back to …" He almost says the word, then bites his tongue. "To work."

"Of course," Carson says, warmly, "providing it doesn't break protocol…"

"And even if it does," Sheppard interrupts, with a shrug. "What sort of thing?"

"Just, ah, a data file. For Radek." He gives an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. "If he's going to avoid blowing anything up - again - he'll need some instruction."

"You know," Carson says, reproachfully, "he's been acting as your replacement without your assistance for some time now, Rodney."

"Hah!" he snorts. "Tell that to Antarctica."

Looking baffled, Brian turns from one man to another. "Who is Radek?"

"Someone we work with," Beckett says, then adds, meaningfully. "And a long-suffering friend."

"Aren't we all?" Sheppard jokes.

McKay huffs. "I'll be glad to be rid of you."

"You don't mean that."

"No? Eating all my food, using my bathroom, breaking my furniture…"

"It's my table!" Sheppard protests.

"And quite frankly," he continues, raising a finger, "I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet."

Which he is, isn't he?

"You'll miss us," Sheppard says, sounding smug.

"Hardly."

"Brian will be my witness." The Colonel looks toward their guest. "Right?"

The boy nods, grinning. "Right."

McKay scowls, because it is better than admitting Sheppard is right.

"_If you're having second thoughts…"_

He isn't, he tells himself, sharply.

"_I suppose I should congratulate you."_

"_You suppose?"_

He _isn't._

"_You're a terrible liar."_

"_Takes one to know one," _Maggie tells him.

Rodney folds his arms across his chest, and tries not to think about how many minutes are left until Beckett and Sheppard will leave.

Allowing for traffic. For queues at check-in. Flight times.

He runs figures in his head, while watching Brian and Sheppard teach Carson yet another magic trick, and does not think about home.


	27. Chapter 27

_Author's Notes: I'm very sorry for the delay. I've just got a new job/promotion which involves longer hours, so the last thing I want to do when I get home is go back onto the computer. Which isn't really much of an excuse, so... sorry!_

_Thanks to all of you who have reviewed, commented or emailed. You're all wonderful!

* * *

_

_McKay_

The time for goodbyes comes all too quickly.

Quicker because Rodney, at around five in the morning, falls asleep. He wakes uncomfortable and stiff-backed, three hours later, irritable and annoyed at himself. The only consolation comes from knowing that Carson drifted off an hour before he did.

Sheppard stands in the kitchen, making coffee. McKay shuffles in, rubbing his lower back with one hand, staring at the Colonel suspiciously.

"Have you been up all night?"

Sheppard shrugs. "Carson was right. Too much sugar."

"Hmm." He looks back towards the living room, where the physician is just beginning to stir from sleep. "What happened to Brian?"

"He went home."

"How late?" he asks, alarmed.

"It's okay, we called his mother, cleared it with her." Sheppard turns toward the stove, and pokes something yellow and squishy in a frying pan. "Eggs?"

Stomach grumbling, McKay nods, and goes to fetch several plates from an overhead cupboard. "It's not long until your flight."

"Cab will be here in about thirty minutes." Sheppard raises his voice to a shout. "You hear that, Carson?"

The Scot mumbles something incomprehensible, lurching out of his seat toward the bathroom.

"He'll be miserable on the flight," McKay warns.

"A grumpy old man, I know." Sheppard pokes the eggs a final time, then switches off the flame and starts to distribute three portions onto the plates. "This is it," he says, quietly. "The last time I'll ask."

McKay grimaces.

Sheppard turns his head, dark eyes staring searchingly at McKay. "Are you coming?"

He swallows, and shakes his head. "I've got a life here."

"Right." His friend turns, reaching for the salt shaker. "There's coffee in the pot."

"Thanks." He turns, pouring himself a cup, feeling awkward. He knows it isn't the answer Sheppard wants to hear, but he has to be honest.

His eyes catch sight of the note still pinned to his fridge.

_1. Learn how to cook._

_2. Buy a house near a lake, for vacations._

_3. Visit Europe._

_4. Learn Czech._

_5. Ice-skating._

_6._ _Date._

He'll book a holiday, Rodney decides. Eastern Europe. Somewhere with ice.

Sheppard appears over his shoulder. "Start on number one," the soldier advises, dryly.

"Says the man with a one-note repertoire," McKay retorts. "Work on something other than meatballs and then you can comment."

"Hey, you had second helpings."

"I was hungry. Don't take it as a compliment." He turns, picking up a plate of eggs and carrying it and the coffee cup toward the living room.

Carson emerges from the bathroom, face scrubbed but still looking bleary-eyed. He eyes the plates in Sheppard's hands suspiciously.

"Eggs," Sheppard explains, putting them both down onto the table.

"You didn't put marshmallows or liquorice into them?"

"They're safe."

"If you say so." The Scot drops onto the couch and picks up a plate and fork. "I'm sorry Rodney. We're leaving your apartment in a state."

McKay shrugs. "It's been worse."

"That I can believe," Sheppard agrees, grinning. "When was the last time you saw your bedroom floor, McKay?"

He ignores the jibe. Spot winds his way around his ankles, and he bends down and pets the cat idly. "I'll do that thing for Radek today and email it to you."

"Sure." Sheppard shrugs. "Anything else?"

"Maybe." He has thought about writing to Teyla and Elizabeth, even to Ronon, although he has no idea what to say to the Satedan.

"No leaving presents?"

"You expect a leaving present?" he squeaks, indignantly. "Isn't using my apartment as a motel room enough?!"

Sheppard grins. "Something to remember you by?"

He grumbles, "you can search my dvds, if you like."

"I'm glad you've said that. You're missing Star Trek IV and VI."

McKay scowls, dropping onto the couch. "So you're leaving me with an incomplete set?"

"I figure Ronon will appreciate them." Sheppard glances at Beckett, the physician polishing off the last of his eggs. "Good?"

"Better than your ice cream," the Scot advises. He looks across to McKay. "You know it's appreciated, Rodney, you putting us up like this."

"Well," he shrugs, "you came to see me. And after everything…"

He stops. After everything doesn't even begin to sum up his feelings. After Atlantis, and returning to Earth desolate and alone. After Antarctica, and injury, and waking up to find himself healed. And now this, Sheppard and Beckett on his doorstep, forcing him to come to terms with the life he has left behind and with his options for the future.

He coughs, concentrating on his breakfast. The eggs are good, hot and slightly peppery.

"You know Zelenka will have to take your place on the team," Sheppard says. "Permanently."

"I know." McKay looks up from his eggs. "How is he coping?"

"He's twitchy. Tends to run into a situation without thinking."

"In other words…" Carson says, eyebrow raised.

"He's a lot like you. Slightly fitter than you were when you started."

He considers rising to the insult, then changes his mind. "He's good. Almost as good as me."

"I know. I've got no worries about him." Sheppard shrugs. "And he doesn't seem to piss the locals off as much as his predecessor."

"Tact," McKay scoffs. "I'm more concerned about his ability to read a map. Your homing instincts leave a lot to be desired."

"Really?" Carson asks, sounding surprised. He turns towards Sheppard. "A pilot who gets lost?"

"I've never been lost," Sheppard objects.

"No. You've not known where you are. You've not known where the Stargate is. In fact, if it wasn't for me…"

"With your helpful Ancient scanning device…" Sheppard objects.

"Oh, and what about P3M-928?"

The Colonel looks blank.

"The planet with the giant beetles?"

Carson grimaces. "Oh, I remember that one. The colour of Ronon's skin…"

"Hey," Sheppard objects, "I told him not to shoot it…"

"It took a week for the purple to wash out."

"And another for his mood to improve." McKay smiles, despite himself.

There is a buzz from Sheppard's pocket. He pulls out a mobile phone, while McKay tries to cover his flinch with an exaggerated cough.

"It's the cab."

"He's early," Carson comments, and McKay realises he isn't the only one who has been counting minutes.

"Yeah. They're damn efficient like that."

"Oh." Getting up, McKay puts his empty plate to one side and goes toward the window, pretending to look for the taxi. He can't see it from this angle, cannot see the entrance of the apartment building, but the room feels stifling, claustrophobic.

The reflection of the glass shows him Beckett, hurriedly dashing toward the bathroom to retrieve the last of his possessions. Sheppard goes to the back of the couch and pulls out his bag, neatly packed.

"You're well trained."

"The Airforce does that to you."

He turns, reluctantly, as Beckett emerges from the bathroom. The physician thrusts the few items into one of his bags, then zips it up.

"I wouldn't mind leaving something behind, but it's not like you can easily send it on after me."

McKay eyes the Scot's bags. "Aren't you going to be over the weight limit?"

"I've already paid my fees once coming here."

"Pity you can't claim expenses."

Carson drags both bags toward the door, then straightens. McKay moves around the coffee table toward them, his feet dragging.

Sheppard shrugs, awkwardly. "I suppose…"

McKay suddenly finds himself enveloped in a pair of surprisingly strong arms and the scent of aftershave. He struggles, pushing against his assailant for a moment, while a Scottish brogue whispers roughly in his ear.

"You'd better take care of yourself without me to patch you up."

He gives in, putting his hands on Beckett's back, feeling uncomfortably flushed. "The same goes for you."

"Aye." Beckett coughs, and pulls back, turning too quickly for McKay to see if the shine in the man's eyes is more than a trick of the light.

He rolls his eyes anyway, knowing the Scot cannot see, then turns to the Colonel.

Sheppard slouches against a wall, mobile still clutched in one hand, his thumb running over its surface repeatedly. "I suppose there's no changing your mind?" he asks, casually.

McKay doesn't answer. Looking at his feet, he says, stiffly: "I don't expect you to be as embarrassing as Carson so…"

Sheppard takes a quick step toward him and in a single hasty gesture gives McKay a brief, one-armed hug.

"Just try not to blow anything up," he says, threateningly. "I hear universities frown on that."

"Yes, well…" McKay clears his throat. He isn't good at this, and knows Sheppard is equally inept. "The same goes for you. I've kept that city in one piece for too long for it to be destroyed in one of your stupid stunts."

"Your trust in me means a lot," Sheppard says, dryly. He bends and picks up his bag, pulling it over one shoulder. Then, as he opens the door, "take care of yourself, McKay."

"The same from me," Carson agrees, following Sheppard out into the corridor. His voice sounds strangled, and McKay fervently wishes the goodbyes could be over with, so he could forget they ever happened.

It isn't like he won't see them again, he tells himself, sharply. Isn't as though there won't be further opportunities for leave - allowing for Wraith, or Genii, or a problem with the Daedalus or the ZPM. Any number of reasons Atlantis could be cut off from Earth again.

Despite his best attempts, McKay cannot shake the sense of finality this moment has.

Sheppard's pocket buzzes for a second time. He looks down and scowls, muttering, "alright already."

"You should go," McKay says, then, quickly: "not that I meant I…"

"Right," Sheppard nods, "you're right." He moves a little further down the corridor, so McKay has space to stand in the doorway. "See you around."

A comment which has no thought behind it, a meaningless filler, something people say to each other when they have no clue what the future will hold. It doesn't make McKay feel any better.

"Yes. You too." Lingering, Rodney waits until his friends have disappeared into the elevator before shutting the door.

* * *

_Carson_

They don't speak on their way from McKay's apartment to the taxi waiting outside. Carson is glad, the weight of his bags leaving him breathless. He deposits them into the car with a sigh of relief, wishing his mother hadn't thought to gift him with quite so many presents. Sheppard stays quiet, his face shuttered, getting into the cab first to give soft spoken directions to the driver.

Carson follows, taking his seat. He allows Sheppard his silence, instead turning to look out through the window at McKay's apartment block as the vehicle pulls away.

"That was good," he says, trying to make his voice sound light. "Seeing Rodney. Good of him to put us up like that. Although I'll be glad to sleep in a bed tonight. My back will appreciate it."

When no response is forthcoming, Carson pauses, struggling.

"I'll be interested to know he copes in an academic environment. I can't imagine Rodney mentoring students. I suppose you could argue that the scientists in his lab have learnt a lot, but that's more _despite_ his coaching, not because of it."

He sneaks a sideways glance at Sheppard. The Colonel is staring out of the opposite window, expression blank, not seeming to be listening to his companion's words.

"I'm not looking forward to the journey back, I can tell you. I suppose it will be a chance to catch up on paperwork but three weeks trapped on that ship…"

His voice falters, then stops. Carson can't bring himself to fill the air with any more idle conversation, so he gives up, returning his attention to the window and the world outside.

"It still feels like a mistake," the Colonel says, suddenly. "I know it isn't - it's what he wants. But still."

"I know," he replies, sadly. "But we have to let Rodney do what he'll do. He's a genius, after all."

"So he claims."

"It will be odd without him." He stares at the other cars as they pass. At the occupants; mothers with children, business men alone, one man mouthing the words to an unknown pop song. All oblivious to the existence of anything more than their own lives, and the lives of their family and friends.

Watching them, Carson wonders at his own life. His mother has dropped enough hints, wanting to know when he will settle down, when he will give her the first much-desired grandchild. He hasn't thought of the future in several years, but returning to Earth and seeing Rodney build a life for himself, has caused Carson to question whether he has been as blinkered.

"Hard to imagine," Sheppard says, "that McKay will be here while we're…" He gestures at the sky.

Clearing his throat, Carson asks hesitantly: "If they shut the project down, if we came back - do you ever wonder what you'd do?"

The Colonel shrugs. "Sign up at the SGC."

"No," he corrects, "I mean, if even that were closed. If we had to go back to…"

"Living normal lives?" Sheppard jokes. "I don't know. Go back to being a pilot, I guess."

"The Airforce?"

"Yeah. Set up home somewhere warm. Somewhere near the sea."

He nods, thinking of Scotland, the lush hills and damp weather, of driving through rain clouds without scenery. He thinks of the various women his mother has tried, vainly, to match make him with; Mrs Jones' daughter, or the niece of the woman she shares a water aerobics class with. Then he thinks of Perna, and has to stop his thoughts from spiralling into the dark.

"You? Carson?"

He jerks, realising that this is the third time Sheppard has asked the question. "Sorry. I was just thinking about what I'd do."

"Scotland?"

"Maybe." He looks down at his hands. "Marriage, I suppose."

"Laura?"

He flushes. "Colonel."

"Sorry. Don't ask don't tell, huh?"

"What about you?" he asks, wanting to deflect Sheppard's attention. "Would you consider marriage?"

Sheppard looks away to the window, and the sky above them. "Not again."

Carson turns, staring at the Colonel, but Sheppard's body language makes it clear that the topic is not one for exploration.

"McKay surprised me," the other man admits. "Didn't think he was capable of surviving here."

"Aye, well…" he swallows, "Rodney can surprise us."

"Yeah." Sheppard takes a deep breath, then turns back so he is facing his companion. "Zelenka won't be happy."

"No?"

"With McKay staying here, Radek's position on the team is made permanent."

He frowns. "He doesn't want to be on the team?"

"He doesn't want to do the weapons training. He's used every excuse you could imagine trying to avoid it but he won't be able to do that anymore."

Carson sees the glimmer of amusement in Sheppard's eyes, and he scowls disapprovingly. "Radek's a good man. If you're thinking of using this training as an excuse to bully him…"

"Hey!" Sheppard protests. "No bullying. Some gentle teasing, maybe. And he has to do the training. Plus, Teyla wants to show him some of her stick fighting…"

Beckett tries to imagine the Czech, hair wild and glasses askew, competing with the elegant Athosian. "Next you'll be telling me you want Radek to train with Ronon."

Sheppard grins, wickedly. "That's an idea."

* * *

_McKay_

The apartment is cluttered, the floor covered in crumbs, the surface of the table sticky. There are DVDs piled beside the television, the cases lying open beside them. Spot is curled up asleep in one of McKay's shirts, discarded at some point during the previous evening.

McKay stares at the mess without the image registering.

It isn't as though his quarters on Atlantis have never been in a worse state. McKay wonders what happened to his certificates, the wall of glass and wood frames to which he was egotistically so protective of. He was in no position to worry about them while in the infirmary. Paid the details no attention once he knew of his fated return to Earth, since at the time nothing else mattered but his self-centred spiral into depression. He wonders where his uniform is; wrapped up in storage, or donated, second hand, to someone else. Wonders about his lab, and whether Radek has claimed the space as his own.

Will he leave any mark on Atlantis?

Yes, he has his friends there, but Rodney knows too well how easily it is to forget people. And when his physical imprint has been enveloped in inevitable change; when his actions are unknown by the newest recruits except as early chapters in the city's biography; when his place in the labs and on the team has been taken - what then?

What the hell sort of mark is he going to make if he leaves now?

He hears Maggie's voice in his head. _"See, if you're worried about the danger he puts himself in, wouldn't it make more sense to go along and make sure he doesn't do that?"_

"_History repeats itself."_

"_You're wrong. You _are_ stupid."_

McKay stares at the apartment, cursing his own idiocy.

Across the room, Spot raises his head and stares at his owner balefully, as if to say, 'oh, so _now_ you get it?'

* * *

_Carson_

The flight back to Colorado seemed to pass more quickly than the hours promised. Beckett wasted the time reading over notes gifted to him by Doctor Lam, while in the seat beside him Sheppard watched a comedy movie. Something meaningless and crude, that had the man laughing every few minutes. They arrive at the airport to a black car and a military escort, who load the bags into the car and open the back doors for Sheppard and Carson to occupy the passenger seats.

Colorado seems hot and dusty after Scotland, as alien as any of the planets Carson has visited. He showers and changes at the base, wishing he had time to catch some much needed sleep.

There is very little he can do at the SGC before the Daedalus leaves. Nothing but paperwork and formalities. Landry insists on a conversation with Sheppard, and Beckett finds himself pounced on by an enthusiastic Daniel Jackson, wanting to know all about the city and the discoveries made there since his last update. Carson humours him, partly because he likes Jackson, but mostly as a way of wasting time before the ship leaves.

Sheppard had tried to argue with both Landry and Caldwell that there was no real need to return to the SGC when they could be transported from anywhere - a beach in Hawaii had been one suggestion - but to no avail. Beckett had to watch his luggage be searched by SGC personnel - a necessary measure, but painful to watch. He had to check off and sign for the medical supplies ordered by himself and prepared by Doctor Lam. And then, finally, he had nothing to do but idly pace the briefing room, counting down the minutes until they left Earth.

"Doctor Beckett?"

He turns. Caldwell stands in the doorway, in uniform, at attention. After more than a year Carson still isn't sure what to make of the Colonel. He knows the man is an excellent soldier, and a fine commander, according to the opinions of the Daedalus crew. But he knows nothing of the personality behind the uniform; his taste in music, his home, his history, how he came to be working for the SGC.

Carson clears his throat, feeling uncomfortable and wishing Landry or Sheppard were here. "Colonel. Everything is alright with your ship, I hope?"

"She's had a few repairs, but her departure is on schedule." Caldwell steps into the room but moves no closer, folding his hands behind his back. "Doctor McKay isn't with you?"

He sighs, heavily. "No. Rodney decided to stay."

"Hmm. He wouldn't listen?"

"The man can be stubborn."

"Probably for the best."

Beckett frowns, not expecting this comment. "Colonel?"

"He made no friends during his last trip on the Daedalus. A few comments were made."

He grimaces. "Rodney didn't handle his return well."

"He didn't handle his return at all." Caldwell raises his eyebrows. "I take it that is no longer the case?"

This Beckett can answer with both confidence and warmth. "Surprisingly, Rodney seems to have made a home for himself."

"Got himself a new job, I hear?"

"At a university, aye."

The conversation, already stilting, staggers to a halt, subject matter exhausted. Beckett wishes Caldwell would at least sit down, to ease the tension. He feels on edge, jittery, wanting to be back on Atlantis already.

Sheppard suddenly appears in the doorway, much to Carson's relief. The soldier's stance stiffens slightly upon sight of Caldwell, straightening from a slouch, though not coming to full attention. "Colonel."

"Colonel," Caldwell returns, his voice colourless.

"They're ready for us," Sheppard says, addressing the room. "Got your stuff sorted, Carson?"

"It's gone ahead of us," he replies, getting up from his seat. "Where do they want us?"

"Gate room. Landry insists on doing this by the book. Coming?" he asks, then without waiting for a reply, Sheppard turns back to the corridor. Caldwell follows, Carson bringing up the rear.

He expects to see at least one member of SG-1 at the send-off, but the gate room is curiously empty. Their departure is without ceremony, and is over in a matter of minutes.

"Doctor," Landry greets him, as they enter the observation room. "Colonels."

Carson looks behind him, seeing to his surprise that the Stargate is activated, the wormhole blue and beautiful.

"Atlantis," the General explains. He indicates an overhead television screen with one hand. "Doctor Weir has asked to speak to you. Walter?"

"Yes sir," one of the technicians responds, the man's hands moving confidently over the controls.

Carson looks up to the screen in time to see Elizabeth's face appear. She smiles at her audience, and Carson experiences a pang of homesickness he is not prepared for.

"John, Carson. It's good to see you."

Her eyes search the room, briefly, and Beckett sees her expression harden slightly, though her tone remains light. "Only the two of you?"

"Just us," Sheppard replies.

She nods, still seeming to be in control, but Carson knows when Elizabeth is disappointed. "The city will be glad when you're back."

"Just the city?" Sheppard jokes.

She quirks a smile. "Ask me again in three weeks, Colonel." Her attention switches to Caldwell. "I expect to see you all then?"

Caldwell dips his head. "Any requests before we set off?"

"No, thank you." Her smiles widens, but its artificial nature is not lost on her audience. "God speed, gentlemen."

Her image winks out, the screen turning blank. Carson turns away. Landry stands with his hands folded, and looks at Caldwell.

"I'd like to echo the Doctor's sentiments, Colonel."

Caldwell nods. Carson feels out of place amongst the military formalities, and stays quiet as appropriate niceties are exchanged. He is aware of Sheppard moving to stand beside him, and is appreciative of the gesture of solidarity.

"Lieutenant," Caldwell says, speaking into his radio. "We're ready for transport."

Beckett waits, without moving. He isn't fond of gate travel, and the physics behind the Asguard beaming technology frightens him more than he cares to admit. His skin tingles, vision blurring for a moment while the scene of the SGC disappears, and the bridge of the Daedalus appears in its place.

He stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself, while Caldwell moves to take his seat.

"Hermiod, are we ready?"

There is a slight pause, and then Carson hears the Asguard reply, his voice reedy and thin.

"_Yes, Colonel Caldwell. Preparing to break orbit."_

Carson stares at the view screen and the image of Earth below, silently saying goodbye to his mother. He can see North America and Canada below the clouds. He wonders at what the people below are doing, at their ignorance of the spacecraft above them. The image is beautiful, one he never tires of, but today Carson finds himself wishing he could share the image with more than the people there.

After a moment he turns away, looking at Caldwell. Sheppard stands beside the other man's chair, his gaze fixed on the planet below them.

"I believe I should go to the infirmary," he says, thinking of the work that awaits him. "Help with the stock take."

Caldwell nods, without paying the Scot any attention. "Thank you, Doctor."

"I'll join you later," Sheppard offers, casually.

Nodding, Carson starts to walk out towards the corridor. He has no desire to see the Daedalus leave Earth behind, see the planet grow smaller, before disappearing entirely when the ship jumps into hyperspace.

"Colonel." One of the soldiers speaks up from behind him. "The SGC are calling."

He frowns, footsteps drawing to a halt.

Caldwell touches his radio earpiece. "Put them through."

There is silence on the deck, as the surrounding officers wait to hear the Colonel's next command. Carson is surprised when the soldier does not put the SGC's communiqué on the speakers, and even more surprised when, after only a moment, Caldwell's hand drops from the radio.

"Change of plans," he declares, while beside him Sheppard raises both eyebrows. "Hermiod?"

"_Colonel Carter has patched the details through,"_ the Asguard replies. Even his voice carries a note of bemusement, though well hidden. _"It should only add several minutes to our departure time."_

"Then go ahead." Caldwell turns in his seat, glancing at Carson and Sheppard.

"Colonel?" Sheppard asks, sounding confused.

"Bear with me, gentlemen. I've been told we have to make a detour." There is a slight note of discomfort in the man's voice, as though Caldwell is tiring of being the SGC taxi driver.

Frowning, Beckett rejoins Sheppard on the bridge of the ship. He glances at the Colonel, wanting to ask for an opinion, for a suggestion as to the nature of the delay, but Sheppard seems as confused as he is.

"Lieutenant?" Caldwell asks.

A young man with blonde hair looks up from his post. "I have the co-ordinates, sir."

"Go ahead."

Frowning, Sheppard looks from the lieutenant to Caldwell. "Colonel? Is there something we should know about?"

"A last minute request from the SGC to pick up an extra passenger." Caldwell looks across at the screens on the left hand wall, then touches his radio. "Hermiod?"

"_One moment, Colonel."_

Unable to restrain his curiosity, Carson takes a step towards the Colonel's seat, aware he is about to overstep his role.

He opens his mouth to ask a question, but is interrupted by a glimmering of light aboard the bridge, a few feet from Sheppard. The transport beam coalesces into a familiar figure, the man shading his eyes with one hand, the other holding a large holdall.

"… if you could just wait one…"

McKay drops his hand and turns so he is staring at Carson and Sheppard, a sheepish look on his face.

Carson simply stares at him.

The physicist waves his hand, weakly. "Surprise."


	28. Chapter 28

_McKay_

McKay managed, shamefacedly, to avoid every one of Elizabeth's communiqués with the Daedalus. He used Novak's station while she was distracted, and hacked into Caldwell's files to read a copy of the schedule. He would be sleeping, or engrossed in an experiment no one could interrupt, or simply 'awol', when he conveniently mislaid his radio.

"Elizabeth will figure it out," Sheppard told him, over lunch.

"Figure out what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"That you're avoiding her."

McKay winces. "I need to apologise to her, but I don't want that to be over a radio."

"She knows you're on board. Caldwell told her as soon as we were within contact range. It's not that long now until you have to face the music."

"You don't need to remind me," he mutters. "I've had the lecture from Carter."

Sam called the day after they broke orbit, her image grainy, patched in from Canada. McKay could see his apartment behind her, the place a mess.

"_You could have cleared up," she reproached._

"_Sorry," he apologised. "It was a last minute decision."_

"_I know," she said, dryly. _

It was Carter he called, a favour used. Sam who appealed to Landry, who cut through the red tape due to 'special circumstances'. McKay barely had time to bundle some belongings into a suitcase before she called to confirm - no, it's not too late, and the Daedalus will pick you up shortly. He hadn't realised how quickly that time would come - was in mid-explanation to Sam about his unfinished papers and _another_ favour when Hermiod called.

He regrets his haste. At the time he was so panicked about trying to get aboard the Daedalus that he forgot about all that he was leaving. His apartment, his books, his neighbours. The town, the park, the grocery store. Even Starbucks. Rodney has never been a fan of sentimentality but even he felt a pang of regret when he realised he never took a moment to acknowledge the goodbye.

_Carter scowled at him, as he excused: "Well, most of the contents belong to the SGC anyway."_

"_Not everything. That DVD player of yours is too sophisticated to be SGC issue." She grinned. "And since you forgot to take it with you, I thought I'd appropriate it. Consider it payment."_

_McKay opened his mouth to protest, then changed his mind, remembering that he had to ask Carter another favour. "Ah, about things I left behind…"_

"_Oh," she said, reaching out to the camera and tilting it to show a different view of the room. Spot is asleep on the sofa, curled up into a basket McKay didn't recognise. "You mean him?"_

_Sam reached out and tickled the cat behind his ears. Purring loudly, Spot rubbed his head against her hand, eyes closed in bliss. "I can't send him after you."_

"_No, I realise that. Actually…" He hesitated, nervously. "I was hoping you would take him home."_

"_To keep him?" she asked, surprised._

"_Borrow," he corrected, pitifully._

"_Sure." She smiled, rubbing Spot's fur. "It's been a while since I had a cat."_

"_I guessed you were a cat person," he said, quickly. "Um, if I were on Earth, the next time, I thought I could visit…" He sounded pathetic, even to his own ears._

_Sam pulled a face at the camera. "That is the strangest pick up line I've ever heard, McKay."_

"_And yet one that works?" he asked, optimistically._

"_We'll see." She turned back to the camera, leaving Spot to sleep. "Anything else?"_

_He listed various other small tasks, technicalities the SGC were already prepared for. Outstanding rent, and unpaid credit cards._

_Sam jotted a couple of notes down, grimacing at several of the tasks. Finally, after McKay exhausted all his ideas, she asked: "Are you sure about this?"_

"_About?" he replied, feigning ignorance._

"_Going back."_

_He didn't hesitate. "Yes. Not that Earth isn't fun, but this is where I should be. Besides, Atlantis needs me."_

"_I'm sure they'd cope," she teased._

"_Oh, yes, and have you forgotten how recently they nearly blew themselves up without me?" He paused. "I've thought about this."_

"_And what about when you get back?"_

_Rodney winced. "Ah."_

"_Duck and cover?" she suggested, one eyebrow raised._

"So?" Sheppard asks, bringing McKay back to the present. "Don't you think it would be easier if you called first? Hi honey, I'm home?"

McKay glares at him. "She knows I'm coming."

"Sure," Sheppard drawls. "She knows. But you don't think it might be worth, I don't know, apologising _before_ you get there?" He reaches out and steals the bread roll from McKay's plate.

He doesn't fight back. Food on the Daedalus is of a limited range, and after the first week the freshness of some of the products has waned.

"I'd rather do it face to face," he explains, weakly trying to justify his actions.

"Just be sure to wear your vest." Sheppard grins. "Wouldn't want Carson to have to patch you up again."

McKay rubs his jaw. "I'm sure you cracked something," he complains. "It still hurts."

"Sure," the soldier drawls, sceptically. "Now if Ronon sucker-punches you…"

Rodney shudders.

* * *

McKay lies awake, staring at the bunk above him. It is the night before the day the Daedalus is due to arrive at Atlantis. Carson should be above him, but the physician has been called away to the aid of an engineer with a broken leg. 

His own work has been sparse over the last three weeks. Most of his time has been spent reading the reports of the city's science crew to learn what work has been carried out in his absence. McKay does not want to have to play subordinate to Radek any longer than he has to. For all Sheppard's assurances, he isn't convinced that the Czech will forgive him for usurping his new position.

The room is dark, but not silent. The hum of the ship around him is constant, yet comforting. Louder than Atlantis, but with the same familiar rumble of bass, overlaid with higher pitched creaks and distant clanks. In the city, the sound acted as a reminder of the ocean beneath them; on the Daedalus, it speaks of the space outside, and the tremendous speed they make through it.

McKay only now realises how much he has missed that sound.

It would be easier, he muses, if he could pretend the past few months had never happened. That it has been a long, drawn out dream, and he has only been gone a matter of weeks. Shore leave, and nothing more.

He can't.

The science reports attest to the time passed. The changes made in his absence, discoveries and explorations he has still to study. Life on Atlantis moves at a faster pace than the one he has been living on Earth, and McKay isn't sure he can catch up.

Then there have been the losses.

He read the personnel updates Elizabeth has sent to Earth. McKay approached them with caution, though he knows that either Carson or Sheppard would have told him of anyone close, anyone whose first name is known to him.

The list is, thankfully, short, but not short enough. Three of Sheppard's men. One fatally injured when a jumper was shot down, caught in the unexpected path of a Wraith dart. Two killed in a cave-in, along with one of the scientists, Doctor Rayner. A seismologist who arrived on the Daedalus only a few days before his own departure. A woman who spent all of three weeks aboard the city before her death.

McKay cannot imagine her face. He knows he must have met her, at least once, in the 'induction' Elizabeth insists all new recruits experience. A handshake, or even less - a snapped hello, in a 'can't you see I'm busy' tone.

Radek's signature is at the bottom of the report into her death.

Rodney has signed his own name more times than he cares to remember, although he has kept count. He does not want to repeat the action, for the number to increase, but he knows it will. Knows that this is all part of the life he has signed up for, the life he is returning to.

Knowing that does not make it any easier.

Sheppard's signature lines the bottom of the reports into the three soldiers' deaths. Long, and looping, as though each autograph has taken him time and thought. McKay has seen it before, when he read the words of Ford's disappearance. The initials, MIA.

How many more times, McKay wonders. Twenty, thirty, a hundred? Repetition does not make the duty any easier, and Sheppard has signed more than he has.

Elizabeth has countersigned each one. Science and military. Following protocol, just as, if Sheppard were to die, then it would be McKay's own signature on the report. Two senior officers. Just as Elizabeth and Sheppard signed the report bearing his own name as title. Returned to Earth, wounded in the line of duty.

As though that can explain the reality.

"_I don't remember. Not getting hit. Not getting Sheppard through the Stargate. I can remember running, and Sheppard giving the order to split up, and then, and then… he was down on the ground bleeding and I didn't know what to do."_

"_Your team have been in trouble before. The Iratus bug…"_

"_I don't need examples, I know, alright?"_

He knows.

The door to the room opens a crack, light spilling into the dark space. McKay blinks, eyes struggling to adjust, and sees Carson's silhouette creep around the edge.

"Everything okay?"

The figure jumps. "Rodney. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep." He sits up, pulling the blanket up to his chest. The room is just big enough to accommodate a small table and two chairs, and McKay watches as Carson drops into one, entire body slumping into the seat.

He says nothing, just watching.

"He'll be fine," the Scot says, after a moment. "A clean break. He'll be out of commission for a while, in plaster. Uncomfortable and painful but it could have been much worse."

"What happened?" McKay asks. A few years ago he wouldn't have cared, would have dismissed the man as an idiot, because who injures themselves on a glorified taxi ride?

Then he watched a man, a colleague, be sucked out of an airlock and killed in the vacuum of space while he could only stand by, helpless. And suddenly even the peace of the journey home was shattered.

"Fell off a ladder, trying to replace a broken light bulb." Carson laughs, but his voice is strained. "Daft, really."

Curious, he asks: "Doesn't the Daedalus have its own doctor?"

"Aye, but he was in a different section of the ship, and I was closest." The Scot shrugs. The movement is barely discernable in the dim light. McKay cannot see his face, but he can hear his friend's exhaustion, and his own anger rises in response.

"And they couldn't beam him over there?!"

"Rodney," Carson reproaches.

Scowling, McKay lies back down so he is again looking at the bottom of the bunk above him. He listens as Carson kicks off his shoes, then feels the bed shift and move around him as the Scot levers himself into the top bunk, still dressed. He hears Beckett shift and turn restlessly against the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position.

"_I'm sick of it, I'm sick of people dying on me."_

"_But you saved him. You saved the Colonel's life."_

McKay stares at the Beckett-shaped dent in the mattress above him.

"Carson?"

Tired, fed-up: "_What_, Rodney?"

"Did I, ah… did I say thank you? For, ah…" He remembers Sheppard's words from earlier. "For putting me back together."

There is a slight pause, then Carson says, his voice lighter: "Aye, Rodney. You did."

"Oh." He hesitates. "Good. I probably don't, ah… I don't say it enough."

"It's my job," Carson points out. "What sort of physician would I be if I turned a patient away? Even you, Rodney." The man pauses. "It's always nice to hear, though."

McKay stays silent for several moments.

"_He told me to leave him."_

"_Aye. But you didn't."_

"_No. I never thought - I wouldn't. But next time, if god, if there was a next time, I might."_

"Why do you stay on Atlantis?"

He doesn't get an immediate response. The silence is long enough for him to wonder whether Carson has already fallen asleep.

Then, "What do you mean?"

"You could get a job back on Earth. Anywhere you wanted to work. In the SGC. Outside of the Stargate programme."

"I suppose," the Scot says, carefully, "I came because of the possibilities. The research that can be done in Pegasus, the discoveries. Just the same as you."

"And now?" he presses. "After…" He doesn't say '_Michael'_, because he isn't _that_ insensitive. "After the last few years?"

There is another pause, the longest yet.

"My GP retired two - three years ago. Doctor Murphy. The man has seen me through everything. Was there in the delivery room with my mum when I was born. He saw my dad, right through to the end. With the NHS as it is now… well, GPs like him are a dying breed."

For once, McKay restrains himself, and doesn't interrupt.

"When I went into medicine, my mum thought that's what I'd be. She always thought very highly of Doctor Murphy. The whole village did. But I wanted more than that. Why spend an entire career on other people's sniffles and infections when I could cure diseases, save thousands?" He laughs, and this time the sound is more authentic. "Mum was always a little disappointed. Never said it, of course, but I know - she'd prefer it if I were home, with a little practice somewhere, giving her grandchildren."

"But you went into research," McKay says. He realises, now, how easy it can be to lose the image of Carson the geneticist in the image of Carson the physician.

"Aye. But I never accounted for life on Atlantis. The people there. Having patients again."

"With all our sniffles and infections?" he says, pointedly.

"And the rest. The best of both worlds, I suppose. There aren't many jobs that would offer me that. That, and good friends."

McKay smiles, knowing he cannot be seen.

"What about you, Rodney? You're on this ship. Took you bloody long enough to decide, mind you, but you're here. Are you ready to go back?"

He thinks for a moment, of signatures and reports and investigations, of being afraid, of running from weapons fire or burning with desperate panic, hands shaking over the controls of a weapons platform.

"Do you think anyone can ever be ready for Atlantis?"

Carson snorts. "Good point."

* * *

The planet is beautiful, and the sight of Atlantis no less staggering than the first time McKay saw her from above. 

In the city it is still early, the sun low on the horizon, but the sky is clear and a brilliant blue. Both spires and water sparkle, and the shadow cast by the Daedalus as it heads into a low orbit is ugly against the landscape.

McKay stands on the bridge of the ship, feeling out of place, as in front of him Sheppard exchanges quiet words with Caldwell.

Carson stands beside him, small bag slung over one shoulder.

"Where's the rest of your luggage?"

"I'll pick it up later."

McKay grimaces. "You just want to be there when…"

"When you arrive back?" Beckett shrugs, grinning. "I'd like to see Ronon's reaction."

"Oh, great," he grumbles. "Sheppard's already warned me that Ronon…"

"Is pissed at you?" Sheppard says, suddenly appearing beside them. "Just like everyone else, McKay."

He nudges the scientist with his elbow. McKay grimaces, and pulls away.

"You don't have to enjoy this so much."

"I'll admit, I get a certain satisfaction out of seeing you squirm."

"I'm not squirming," he protests.

"Not yet."

"Colonel," Carson reproaches. The Scot puts his hand on McKay's back. "He's winding you up."

"Maybe," McKay says, but he isn't naïve. He is all too painfully aware of the mistakes he made in his last few days aboard Atlantis. Of the friendships he ruined, of the words he spoke in anger and fear.

Carson's hand is still on his shoulder. Ordinarily McKay would be annoyed by the gesture, but at this moment he finds it comforting. A reminder that even if he insulted the rest of the city, at least two of his friends were stubborn and hung around long enough to see more than the self-pity, to give him a chance at repairing his mistakes.

"_Believe it or not, people care about you, in spite of your winning personality."_

His mouth quirks into a smile.

"McKay?" Sheppard asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry. I was thinking of something Carter said."

"Oh, really? Was this before or after she slapped you?"

His eyes widen at Sheppard's grin, but before he can splutter a response Caldwell interrupts.

"Gentlemen, if you're ready…"

Caldwell has turned his chair around to face them. McKay straightens, feeling self-conscious and nervous.

"Not joining us, Colonel?" Beckett asks, courteously.

"I'll follow later." The older man tilts his head, then looks away, tapping his radio. "Hermiod?"

"_Yes, Colonel."_

"We're set up here."

McKay waits, taking a deep breath. His pitifully small bag feels heavy against his shoulder, the strap uncomfortable, digging into his skin.

Sheppard glances at him.

"Ready?" Caldwell asks.

McKay feels a tingle, and then his vision starts to blur, grainy, the colour fading. Lost in the ether, no one hears his quiet, pitiful sounding: "No…"

Atlantis appears around him.

The control room above, the Stargate behind them, complete with stained glass window. Coloured light casts warmth into the room, laying patterns of oranges and yellows across the floor.

The familiarity of home makes McKay's chest ache.

Elizabeth stands on the bottom step, dressed in uniform. Behind her and several steps up Ronon, Teyla and Zelenka stand in a line. They are unchanged from the way McKay remembers them. The past few months have seemed so long to him, he expects there to be differences. There should be some sign that time has passed, that all he has been through, all that he experienced was real.

On either side of him, Beckett and Sheppard start to walk forward, Sheppard whistling.

"Hey guys. Good to see you. We picked up a hitchhiker, hope you don't mind…"

Elizabeth smiles, and finishes the last few steps until she is walking towards Sheppard. "Not at all, Colonel."

McKay hovers behind them, his feet seemingly frozen to the floor. He cannot bring himself to move, and wishes desperately that the ground would suddenly open up and swallow him.

"Rodney."

He stares at his shoes. "Elizabeth."

"_Rodney,"_ she says, pointedly.

He lifts his head. Elizabeth stands in front of him, so close he can smell her perfume - something floral and gentle.

"Hi," he says, his throat dry, voice scratchy. "I, uh… is it okay that I'm here? Sheppard said - well, I thought… I know I didn't give much notice…"

"Rodney," she repeats, then suddenly steps forward and hugs him. Both of her arms wrap around his back, and his chin touches her shoulder as he leans in toward her, feeling embarrassed and awkward.

After a second she pulls away, and now McKay can see that Teyla and Ronon are stood beside her.

He lifts one hand and waves, echoing his actions on the Daedalus.

Teyla smiles, wide and warm and beautiful. She steps forward, and this time McKay is ready - reacting as Teyla's hands touch his shoulders, and he dips his forehead to meet hers. The Athosian greeting has never seemed so intimate before.

"I am glad to see you," she says, her breath ghosting across his face.

"You too," he squeaks, wishing he sounded more confident. "Ah, thank you for the video message."

Her smile widens, and she pulls away. "You are recovered?"

"Bloody miracle that machine," Carson says, answering for him. "If we could work out a way to use it without the user needing both the Ancient gene and Tok'ra…"

"Doc'," Sheppard interrupts, deliberately.

McKay flinches, aware of Ronon staring at him. He has forgotten how tall the Satedan is, how big and hulking and powerful. He withers under the man's intimidating stare.

"Ronon."

The runner doesn't answer.

Taking a deep breath, McKay forces his chin upwards, and curls his hands into fists, lifting them to his chest. "Okay, so… go on."

Ronon cocks an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Hit me."

"Hit you?"

"Yes." He closes his eyes. "Just… try not to break my nose. Or… okay, one black eye I can cope with, but not two. And do it quick. One, two…"

Nothing happens. Confused, McKay risks cracking one eye open.

"Rono…"

His words are cut off with a yelp as the Satedan, bending a little, suddenly steps forward and envelops the scientist into a hug. His grip is fierce and tight, strong enough to squeeze the air from McKay's chest, and lift his feet from the floor. He gasps, ribs aching, and attempts to extricate his arms from where they are crushed against his sides.

"Ronon." Sheppard's voice. "Ronon, I think that might be enough."

The hold around McKay suddenly releases, and the scientist drops to the floor, gasping. "Thank you."

Ronon stares at him, looking confused. "You thought I was going to hit you?"

"Sheppard hit me," he says, by way of an explanation.

Elizabeth raises one eyebrow, turning her gaze upon a sheepish Sheppard. "You hit him?"

"It was barely a scratch!" the Colonel protests.

"Did you bring me a present?" Ronon grunts, poking McKay's bag.

Recovering from the unexpected, if bone-crushing hug, Rodney pulls the bag away from the Satedan's inquisitive hands. "It wasn't a holiday," he protests.

"No?" Zelenka asks. The Czech walks up to stand beside Weir, hugging a laptop to his chest. "There are some in the science department who would disagree with you, Rodney. For us it has been quite peaceful in your absence."

McKay's jaw drops open. "What? Peaceful? So that little trip I took to Antarctica, what was that for?"

"Not peaceful anymore," Sheppard mutters, loud enough to be heard.

"One problem," Radek corrects, "and I would have found the solution had Colonel Sheppard not been so impatient…"

"Radek…" McKay interrupts, then, exasperated, he lapses into silence. The Czech seems tired, and slimmer than McKay remembers. The only one to have changed. His hair seems wilder, and his uniform snugger. "What happened to you?"

"Training," the Czech replies, manhandling the laptop so he could tug on his shirt. He grimaces. "It was forced upon me."

"Necessary for off world missions," Sheppard points out.

"And protocol," Elizabeth adds. She puts her hand on the Czech's shoulder, briefly. "I've been very impressed with the way you took on both roles in such a short time period."

McKay winces, remembering what his arrival means for his counterpart. "Radek, I, ah, I didn't mean - I _don't_ mean… if I could…"

He wishes he could find the appropriate words, but his incoherent mumbles seem to be enough for the Czech.

Zelenka shrugs, then thrusts out the laptop as though it is a peace offering. "I have not worked on my own projects for three months, Rodney. _Three months!_ I have led teams, and delegated, and coached and managed - but my own work? And as if my time were not already limited, I have to go off-world, hike for miles in the rain, play nicely with native villagers, watch while the Colonel…"

Teyla clears her throat, delicately but deliberately.

"Oh," and McKay raises an eyebrow and stares at Sheppard deliberately. "Kirk?"

"Here," and again Zelenka thrusts the laptop at him. "Take it. It is yours again. I have loaded it with the latest manifests and the reports which need approving. Both Ashcroft and Simpson have several projects they wish you to review. There is a request from the botany department to turn a section of level three into a hydroponics lab. Miko has produced a paper on how to streamline the code needed to convert Ancient programming into something that our software can accommodate. I do not understand the script she uses, but I hope you will. Oh, and I have included the portfolios of all the applicants for the two positions available in engineering. Not many, this time. No more than thirty or forty to sift."

McKay takes hold of the laptop, almost too stunned to speak. Almost. "Thirty or _forty_?!"

"I am glad you are back." Then Radek coughs, and turns suddenly, toward Elizabeth. "Doctor Weir, I would like to formally resign as chief of science aboard Atlantis."

She hesitates, glancing at McKay. "Rodney?"

"I…" He pauses, struggling for words. "Radek…"

"That means he agrees," Radek snaps, though his tone is soft. "Believe me, any thoughts I may have entertained as to my career advancement have changed. I have decided I do not want to be a leader. Yes, Rodney?"

He swallows. "Y-yes."

"Good. And about Antarctica…"

"Yes?"

There is movement from around the gateroom. Figures step out of the shadows, several dozen; not all of Atlantis' personnel, but a good number, and every face McKay recognises. Scientists, standing out in their uniforms. Miko hiding behind Dave Ashcroft, Simpson stood beside Keenan. The gate technician, Chuck-somebody. Soldiers - Lorne, and Calletano, and Lieutenant Jones. A round of applause breaks out, loud and warm and, for McKay, hideously embarrassing.

Again he wishes the ground would open up. He flushes scarlet, his cheeks burning, and he hugs the laptop closer to his chest in self-defence.

Sheppard puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, while beside them Elizabeth, Carson and Radek join in with the applause.

"Glad you're back, McKay," the Colonel says. "And despite what Radek says, you may have _something_ to do with us still being here."

Rodney blinks, his throat closing up. "Yes, well… it's, ah, I was in the right place and…" He grimaces. The applauses isn't ending. "Can they stop that, please?"

Sheppard grins, and makes a slight motion with his free hand. The clapping dies away, and as McKay tries to gaze at anything except the people around him he is aware of the crowd moving away, of dissipating back to the depths of the city and their usual routine.

He sags a little, relieved that he is no longer the subject of so many stares.

"I'm hungry," Sheppard announces. "What's the mess serving today?"

"Cake," Ronon says abruptly, then gives a feral grin.

"Cake sounds good." Sheppard jostles McKay's shoulder. "What do you say, Rodney?"

He nods, still stunned. "Cake sounds good."

"Elizabeth?"

She smiles. "I may join you later, Colonel. I need to speak with Colonel Caldwell first."

"We'll save you a piece." Sheppard pushes McKay forward, forcing him into a stumbling walk. Carson, Teyla and Ronon keep pace, walking beside them. "We've got to catch up."

"Catch up?" he repeats, dumbly.

"Yeah. Teyla has to tell us about her date with that guy we can't talk about…"

"Colonel!" the Athosian admonishes, sounding embarrassed.

"And I've been teaching Ronon baseball."

"It's dull," Ronon says, matter-of-factly.

"You just have to learn to appreciate the delicacies of the art," Sheppard tells him.

"Glorified bloody rounders if you ask me," Beckett mutters.

McKay swallows. His feet follow Sheppard's guidance, out of the control room and into the corridor. People pass them, scientists and soldiers, each glancing briefly in his direction and offering a smile or a wave.

"Cake?" he asks, clinging to the one sentence he understood in the past few minutes.

"Chocolate," Ronon says, then grins again, wickedly.

* * *

_Author's Notes: Because cake is always good. One more chapter to tie up loose ends, and then we're done! _


	29. Chapter 29

_Author's Notes: 115, 242 words later, we're finally at the end! Apologies again for the delay. Note to self: next time, write most of the fic _before_ starting to post..._

* * *

_Carter_

Sam stands outside the innocuous looking front door, trying to decide what she expects to find behind it. McKay's message had been specific on the details, but on personality it was vague, other than a name and an address she now checked and rechecked for a fourth time.

McKay's apartment left little clue to the life he had been living, other than the usual male bachelor clutter. Most of the furniture was SGC issue, and Rodney never struck her as the sort of person who collected knick-knacks. She scanned the titles of the DVDs left behind, disgusted to find a scrawled post-stick from McKay listing the date they were due to be returned. Not that she has any intention of following his instruction; let Rodney pay the fine owed to Blockbuster, the next time he returns to Earth. By then, she figures, it will have become a significant amount.

There were no photos. She wonders if this is because McKay took them to Atlantis, or whether, like an emotional hermit, he has none. His wardrobe was limited, occupying a single box in the living room, now awaiting transport along with the rest of the physicist's possessions. Aside from food and a backlog of science journals, there was little else.

Sam writes to the necessary universities, apologetic notes posing as a relative, citing 'unexpected personal circumstances' as the reason for McKay's disappearance. Other loose ends are the responsibility of the SGC.

Except this.

"He's a friend," McKay told her, over a video link. "Sort of."

Sam stands before the door and wonders what 'sort of' means, and what she has agreed to. How much McKay owes her for this number of favours.

She checks the package beside her one final time, adjusting it slightly, then knocks.

A woman opens the door, middle-aged with dark hair and a bright smile, which falters when she sees Carter's uniform.

Another detail of McKay's.

"Can I help you?"

Sam extends her hand, a gesture of friendship more than formality, but has to wait a moment while the woman decides to accept. "Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter, United States Air force. I hope you can help me. I'm looking for someone. Brian Kozoll."

The woman's gaze narrows in suspicion, hackles rising. "What does the US Air force want with Brian? He's a good boy. He wouldn't deliberately do anything wrong…"

Sam lifts her hand to forestall any further protests. "Brian isn't in any trouble, Mrs Ko…"

"Musgrove. And it's 'Miss.' Jane."

"I'm not here in an official capacity. Actually, I'm here because of a mutual friend. Doctor Rodney McKay?"

She pauses, suddenly realising she has no idea whether McKay is known to this woman. Fortunately, at the physicist's name Jane relaxes.

"Oh. Brian was wondering where he'd gone. I'm so glad. The apartment is empty - no word, nothing to say where he's gone - and Brian seemed to like him. Too many people have taken advantage of him in the past."

Carter manages to school her expression and avoid looking too surprised. "Is Brian in?"

"Of course." The woman takes a step back, moving aside to allow Sam to enter. She eyes the oversized package suspiciously, watching as Sam attempts to manoeuvre it into the apartment. "Do you need a hand?"

Sam nudges it up over the bump of the doorstep, then rolls it inside. "Thank you, but it's on wheels. It's not a problem."

She pulls it behind her, following Jane as the woman leads her into the apartment. The space is smaller than McKay's, and more closed in, a corridor running from the front door to a living room Sam sees beyond. They turn off before the end, facing an inner door at which her host knocks.

"Brian, honey? You've got a visitor."

She hears a male voice call out, "Coming!", and then a few seconds later the door opens.

Brian is not what Sam expects. Young, and looking at her with a wide-eyed innocence. A curious expression that turns into a frown when he spies the large package by Sam's side.

"Hello?"

"Hi," Sam says, and smiles. "Brian, isn't it? I'm Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter. I'm a friend of Rodney McKay's."

The change in the man is instantaneous. He immediately breaks into a wide smile, stepping forward eagerly to peer out at the corridor. "Is he here?" he asks.

"No, I'm sorry." Sam feels genuinely torn that she cannot offer an alternative answer. "He couldn't be here. That's why he sent me."

The man - _boy_, Sam corrects - deflates, looking at Sam glumly.

"He's gone. He didn't tell me."

"Not a word," Jane interrupts sharply. From her tone Sam identifies her as Brian's mother.

"I know, and Rodney wishes it were different," she replies, smoothly, "but he had to leave unexpectedly. Problems at work."

Jane scowls, a defensive action to protect her son. "He told Brian he wasn't working. Retired."

Sam internally curses McKay, wishing that the scientist had given her more warning as to what to expect. "He was on leave for several months while certain issues were… worked through. Unfortunately circumstances changed and he had to return early."

"You work with him?" Brian asks.

"Don't be silly," his mother chides. "You said Doctor McKay was a - what, astrophysicist? What would the Air force need one of those for?" She pauses, and looks back at Sam. "Let's go into the living room. Would you like a drink? Coffee?"

"A coffee would be great, thank you." Carter turns to move her cargo, only to find that Brian is one step ahead of her, pushing the box towards the living room. She opens her mouth to ask him to be careful, but stops herself upon seeing the attention the boy pays to his task.

The apartment is clean and neat, adorned with personal touches to give it a familial warmth. A tall bookshelf covers one wall, housing fiction novels and an unusually large number of astronomy books. She recognises a few of the titles from her years at college, and is surprised at their relative complexity.

Photos stand beside the books. A familiar face in younger years; in Halloween fancy dress or sports outfits. In some photos Jane appears, in others a middle-aged man Sam doesn't recognise, but she assumes to be Brian's father.

She takes a seat on the couch, aware of Brian's keen gaze fixed on her. She struggles to remain controlled beneath his scrutiny, feeling increasingly lost. The boy watching her so closely is as far from what she expected as could be, and she finds she has to not only adjust her approach to the conversation, but also rethink her perception of McKay.

"I'm sorry," she says, apologetically. "Rodney didn't really tell me much. How do you know him?"

"I'm the guard," Brian responds, then gestures towards the floor, and the levels below. "But there's not much to guard. All the tenants are nice. Doctor McKay gave me astronomy lessons." He pauses, frowning. "What about you? Are you his girlfriend?"

Sam tries very hard not to laugh, stifling a snort by pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. "No. Truthfully…" she leans forward, and whispers so she will not be overheard by her hostess, "I _do_ work with McKay. But our work is secret."

Brian appears to think this over for a moment, then nods. "I thought so."

"That's why he had to leave so suddenly," she explains. "I know he wanted to say goodbye properly."

"What about his friends? Sheppard and Carson?"

She blinks, momentarily thrown, wondering at recent events and McKay's understanding of the SGC's non-disclosure policy. "They work with him too."

Brian nods, seemingly pleased by this news.

"Coffee," Jane announces suddenly, appearing from the kitchen bearing a tray. She sets it down onto the table; two coffee mugs and a glass of cordial, which Brian takes. "I wasn't sure if you took sugar…"

"Just milk is great." Sam takes the mug offered to her, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "I'm sorry for interrupting your day like this."

"No apologies necessary. It's always nice to have visitors." Jane pauses, gaze dropping to the covered cargo positioned by the couch. "Can I ask what's in the box?"

Sam takes a sip of the coffee, then places the mug onto the table. "It's from McKay. He asked me to give it to you since he couldn't come."

"A present?" Brian asks, eyes wide.

Smiling, Carter turns and grabs hold of the box, pushing it towards Brian. "Open it."

Hesitantly, Brian leans over and tugs the thing towards him. It was well wrapped by the store, the bottom cut out to allow use of the wheels. Even so, the boy makes short work of the packaging, peeling back tape and ripping up cardboard with haste, until the item within revealed itself.

Jane frowns. "What is it?"

Brian grins, reaching out to touch the metallic surface reverentially. "It's a telescope."

"That's a _telescope?"_ she asks, incredulously.

"It's probably a little bigger than the ones you've had in the past," Sam explains. She doesn't add, 'more expensive,' though she has seen the amount printed on the invoice. "McKay seemed to think you'd like it."

Brian starts to pull out accessories from within the box, lenses and filters and other items, all encased in bubble wrap. His excitement builds at the sight of each one.

"This is amazing!"

Jane coughs, deliberately. "It's very nice of Doctor McKay to do this but I don't know why."

Sam starts, suddenly remembering another part of her instructions. "Rodney gave me a note." She fumbles in her pocket, locating a crumpled piece of paper, and unfolds it to reveal McKay's untidy scrawl. She reads, "If you're going to be an astrophysicist, you might as well do it properly."

Jane frowns.

Sam winces, and apologies: "subtlety isn't one of Rodney's talents. Oh, but…" she pulls out an envelope from the same pocket and hands it to Jane, since Brian appears too consumed by his new gift. "There was also this."

Hesitantly, Jane runs her finger under the envelope's seal, opens it, and pulls out a letter. She reads the top line, then stops, and turns to Brian. "You should take this. It's your present."

Moving away reluctantly from the telescope, Brian accepts the letter from his mother. He reads silently, mouth forming a silent 'o' in surprise.

"The college is a little out of town," Sam explains, because she has already seen the letter's contents, "but there's a bus which picks up from the centre."

"Astronomy lessons?" Brian asks, blinking owlishly.

"And anything else the college offers." She's seen the list, impressed at the extensive opportunities available.

Jane is frowning again, deeper than before, picking at the hem of her skirt. She inches a little closer to Carter and, lowering her voice, whispers: "I can't afford to pay for this, and if he has to leave after a year…"

"It's a subscription fee," Carter explains. "And McKay is paying."

"And this college, it…" the mother pauses, and asks deliberately: "he'll be okay there, won't he?"

Sam smiles. "I've done a bit of research. It's got a good reputation."

"Please don't take this wrong, but _why_?"

She answers as honestly as she can, from what little she knows or can guess. "McKay isn't good with, ah, with people. You," she addresses Brian, "must have impressed him."

The boy flushes.

"As much as McKay derides ignorance, he also doesn't like to see talent going wasted. And," she pauses, because it still seems strange, "he said you and he are friends."

Brian nods eagerly.

Jane's suspicion seems to ease. Sam now realises why McKay specified so many details - her presence, donning the uniform, using full titles - when he could have sent the presents through the mail. An act of kindness from a stranger in such a manner would have provoked only paranoia and hostility from the mother - understandably. Sam suspects Miss Musgrove could be fiercely protective over her son if anyone tried to exploit him.

She glances, discretely, at her watch. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. My plane leaves shortly."

Another detail deliberately dropped to impress sincerity upon the mother. It seems unnecessary. Jane sighs, looking disappointed, though not as much as her son.

"I thought you might stay," Brian objects, hopefully. "Have dinner."

"I wish I could." Sam gets to her feet, putting her coffee cup on the table. "It's been a pleasure meeting both of you."

Jane leads the way to the front door, Brian following, picking his way through the path of destroyed paper, cardboard, and plastic wrapping.

"Will you thank him?" he asks. "Say hello for me."

"I will," Sam promises. "And I'm sure he'll write."

She isn't convinced of the truth of this statement, but pledges herself as reminder if McKay conveniently forgets. Then, spontaneously: "Look, I understand if you don't want to - you don't know me, after all - but if you needed help with your studies…" She pulls out a card from the inside pocket of her jacket, and hands it to Brian. "Email me. You've got a computer?"

He nods, smiling, head ducking shyly.

"You can email me with any messages for McKay too. He doesn't get access to his own email very often," she explains. Pausing, she glances again at her watch, knowing there is a car outside waiting for her. "Thank you for the coffee, Miss Musgrove."

"Jane," the other woman repeats, warmly. She puts a hand on her son's shoulder, and tugs him gently back inside the apartment. "Come on, Brian. You can show me how your telescope works."

He frowns slightly, but nods, following his mother inside. Sam starts the walk towards elevator, feeling unsettled.

When McKay instructed her to visit his 'friend,' she never imagined anything like Brian. The scientist was deeply obnoxious when they first met, arrogant and heartless. Their second meeting did more to change her opinion of him, but she knows McKay does not make the best first impression, and his immediate hostility served to drive most away. The past few years on Atlantis, the reports from the city and their infrequent exchanges of ideas and conversation have caused Sam to change her perception of the Canadian, but she is still astonished by Brian. Meeting him, and glimpsing a part of Rodney's life - _his_ life, stripped of science or position - Sam realises she must yet again adjust her picture of McKay.

Of course, Sam muses, McKay is still arrogant and frequently obnoxious. Perhaps she can now erase the 'heartless' comment.

She hears the apartment door click as the lock is pulled back, and turns to see Jane, peering out into the corridor hesitantly.

"Colonel Carter?"

Sam stops. "Yes?"

"I just…" The woman glances behind her, then steps out into the corridor, closing the door carefully behind her. She clasps and unclasps her hands nervously. "Brian isn't… he isn't good at judging a person's character. People take advantage of him because of that. I'm just glad…" Again she pauses, then smiles. "Thank Doctor McKay for me."

Sam returns the smile. "I will."

Jane nods, seeming satisfied, then ducks back into the house, the door closing behind her.

Carter turns back to the elevator, and addresses the air, as though her thoughts can travel light years.

"You continue to surprise me, McKay."

* * *

_Radek_

"Miko has been working on converting our binary code to the script used by the Ancients. She moved her equipment into here, as she could easily converse with Doctor Taylor when needed; however, you may wish to move the both of them next door when you are ready. Miko tends to be a little… _distracted_ when you are in the room, Rodney."

"And what's that supposed to mean?!"

Zelenka ignores him. "We have managed to improve the efficiency of the ZPM by two percent; it sounds very little but anything we can do is important. Unfortunately that has meant temporarily suspending Doctor Mycroft's project looking at the inertial dampening system - however, it was agreed that given our current situation the project is very low on our priority list." He walks quickly, McKay keeping pace behind him. The lab is quiet, the few scientists who have dared to occupy the room intelligent enough to know when to stay silent. They glance curiously towards McKay when they believe the physicist is oblivious, then duck back to their work when he turns their way.

"This is where I have been working. It is a little disorganised at present; I was planning to audit the various devices and parts we have in storage but as you can see, this task is not finished. There are a great many pieces which serve no useful function and could be stored elsewhere." He pauses, arriving at the far end of the lab. "And this," he says, with a grin, "is the coffee machine." He gestures at the table. "Fresh filters are to the left; mugs on the right…"

"I know where the damn coffee machine is!" McKay explodes, red-faced. "You're enjoying this far too much, Radek!"

"Perhaps," he admits, pushing his glasses up his nose with one finger, "a little. It is rare that I have the opportunity to give _you_ direction, Rodney."

"Orders, don't you mean?" the Canadian mutters darkly. "You said you were okay with me coming back and taking over as department head. If this is some twisted punishment for that…"

"Please, Rodney," Radek objects, "I am not that childish. No, I told you I was happy for you to take over. And I am. I have decided I am not suited for management."

McKay grimaces. "It's not my favourite part of the job either. People behave like children."

He says this part loud enough for the rest of the lab to hear. Radek notices several annoyed faces, and thinks to himself, yes, things can return to normal.

"Why didn't you use my office?"

He turns. Rodney is walking to the far end of the lab, and the partitioned area he had claimed as his own early on in the Atlantis mission. Close enough to yell at his minions or demand fresh coffee, but an area defined in a way which offered him his own personal working space.

The 'room' is much as McKay left it. Files on one side of the desk, laptop on the other. Coffee mug, with the words "physicists take matters into their own hands" stamped on the side. A present, McKay had said, with no further explanation. A box, padlocked, containing chocolate and other sugary snacks. A small number of CDs, Wagner mixed in with backup copies of databases. Everything in its place, but for once, tidy and dusted.

"I did not like the confinement," Radek excuses. "I prefer to see the rest of the lab while I am working."

He does not mention the sense of impropriety he experienced even stepping into the room without McKay's presence. As though he was crossing into someone else's territory, and knowing he has not done enough to earn access rights. Foolish, perhaps, and Radek will not admit the truth from embarrassment.

Rodney shoots him an odd look, and under his scrutiny Radek turns away.

"I believe that is everything. You have read the reports from the past few months?"

"While I was on the Daedalus."

"I can ask the team leaders to update you on their progress, but we have a staff meeting scheduled for tomorrow. You still have access to the systems - your account was disabled, but not deleted. And your emails… well, they may number into the thousands. If I were you I would delete the entire inbox and start from scratch."

"Radek."

He turns. McKay is glancing around the lab nervously. He takes a step back, into the office, and Radek follows, curiously.

"Look, I…" Rodney swallows, folding his arms across his chest. "I wanted to say…" His voice falters.

Zelenka grimaces, clearing his throat. "Rodney, you do not have to…"

"Yes, I do," the scientist interrupts, firmly. "I… I realise I treated you, ah… badly. Before. When I…"

"Yes," Radek says, because Rodney does not need to identify his failings for them to be recognised, and Radek will not force him to. "You were a…" He pauses, thinking of the correct word. "An asshole."

McKay colours, but says nothing.

"Your actions were not justifiable, Rodney, but I understand. And you are forgiven."

"Oh." His friend appears flummoxed. "Ah… thank you. And the healing device…"

"If it were me," he cuts in, smoothly, "if I were injured and you had the device, what would you do?"

McKay stares at him, and doesn't answer. They both know there is little point.

"Your thanks are appreciated, Rodney," Radek finishes, "but not necessary. Now," he turns, gesturing at the laptop and the desk. "Do you wish to start work now?"

A slight smile appears on McKay's face, a sense of contentment and relief. "Yes. I have to see what damage has been done in my absence, don't I?"

* * *

_McKay_

Rodney does something he never has before; he searches for his team.

Previous to his accident, as he has decided to refer to it, personal engagements were forced upon him. Usually Sheppard, often Carson or Elizabeth, and occasionally Teyla would appear at the lab or at his quarters, asking for his company. He would frequently turn them down, though his habits had changed sufficiently over the past three years to mean that happened less. He would force himself to go, despite reactionary excuses: work, time management. Other, more pressing demands for his attention.

He made excuses.

It is only now, after long months spent on Earth and the weeks aboard the Daedalus, that Rodney realises his mistake.

He tries their quarters first, having checked their schedules to be certain they are all available. When this fails to yield a response, McKay goes to the training room. Lorne and a nameless marine are practising unarmed combat, and McKay's appearance is enough of a disturbance to allow Lorne to pin his surprised opponent to the mat.

"McKay," the Major pants, breathlessly. "The Colonel isn't here."

He blinks. "Why do you think…"

Lorne lightly presses his elbow against the poor marine's windpipe, effectively trapping the other man. "Hey, if you're here to train, doc', I'll be glad to help you out."

He scowls deeply at the comment, folding his arms across his chest crossly. "Even if I needed 'training,' Major - which I don't - I've got better things to do."

"Sure," Lorne shrugs. "Hey - McKay…"

Rodney stops, one foot already out the exit.

"It's good to have you back."

He flushes, and ducks into the corridor without another word. For the past two days he has been subjected to well-wishers, all smiles and waves. McKay has done his best to appear hostile, bristling and retorting to the comments with a snapped insult. It doesn't work. He can feel himself weakening, unable to deny the secret pleasure he feels upon his return. Even his responses to the lab technicians have been unusually mild.

He wants to be flattered, but isn't used to the feeling, and instead backs out of the training room as fast as possible.

McKay heads toward the mess hall, then changes his mind, and decides to pay a visit to the infirmary. He has barely seen Carson since his return, both men caught up in work.

The Scot is bent over lab equipment, something in test tubes, part of a science McKay has no desire to understand. Rodney stands in the doorway, watching his friend work. He never takes the time to watch Carson Beckett the geneticist, the researcher. Usually the only role he sees is that of Carson Beckett, the man keen to stick his friend full of needles.

"Rodney." The physician looks up, surprised. "I was just going to call you. Schedule your last check up."

Inwardly McKay groans, but the word 'last' stops him from making too much of a protest. "I'm fine," he grumbles. "I haven't had any problems."

"Aye, I know, but it pays to be careful. This was untested technology, Rodney." The Scot puts down the beaker he holds in one hand onto the bench. "What is it I can help you with?"

He shrugs. "I was looking for Sheppard."

"He was here a couple of hours ago." Carson frowns. "I believe you were to blame, actually."

McKay stares at him, confused. "What?"

"You gifted Ronon with that bloody wrestling DVD. Sheppard wouldn't tell me exactly what happened but I suspect that was the reason behind his wrist."

His eyes widen. "He broke his wrist?"

"Sprained, and only a slight one, but it will put him out of commission for a few days." Shrugging off his lab coat, Beckett turns to hang it on a rack against the wall. "He did mention he was going to get something to eat. I turned down his invitation because I thought I'd be working here but your interruption is fortuitous, Rodney. There's only so long I can stare down a microscope and watch the same test results occur." He glances at McKay. "Hungry?"

Rodney opens his mouth to say no, when his stomach answers for him, growling a complaint. "I suppose," he admits. "But it's late. They won't be serving any more."

"I'm sure we can rustle something up."

Carson heads out of the door, McKay following. He assumes Sheppard will have left already, and dismisses his pursuit. He was searching for company, and now he has it - another change he has brooded upon. Solitude is appreciated, at times welcomed, but after having it abruptly thrust upon him by his accident McKay now realises there are alternatives.

"How are you settling back in?" Carson asks, as they walk towards the nearest transporter. "Finding your feet?"

McKay resists the urge to roll his eyes. "I've not been gone _that_ long, Carson. And yes, now that Radek's power trip has ended and he's allowed me to get on with some actual work."

"Kept interrupting you, did he?"

"Helpful suggestions," he replies, lacing his words with heavy sarcasm. "Checking I knew where the spare hard drives were kept and the location of personnel files."

"You can't object to the man having a little fun at your expense," Carson points out. "Radek has covered for you for several months, Rodney, and if wasn't for his work on the healing device…"

"I know, I know," he grumbles. "Zelenka won't let me forget it."

"And what about everything else?"

He glances at the Scot suspiciously. "What else?"

Beckett looks at him for a moment, then turns away. "You were on Earth for a while, Rodney. Returning here so abruptly must be a bit of a culture shock."

He shrugs. "It's a change of pace."

"Working aboard Atlantis from sitting on your couch?" The physician's eyes twinkle.

"I was a little more active than that!" he huffs, indignantly. "I had a job…"

"Consulting on papers…"

"And I was about to start a new one!"

"Aye," Carson agrees, "very self-sufficient of you."

They step into the transporter, Beckett thinking the device towards their intended level. It is a trick that McKay, with his artificial gene, has never been able to accomplish, and Carson's natural skill still annoys him as much as it ever did.

They arrive to discover that Sheppard never left the mess hall. His feet propped up on the table, the Colonel is in deep discussion with Ronon. The Satedan sits opposite, chair tipped back, and his laughter carries loud in the empty space. Behind Sheppard Teyla perches on a table, her long legs folded beneath her. They are the only ones in the mess hall, bathed in a solitary pool of light, and they turn when Beckett and McKay enter.

"Hey," Sheppard waves at them. His left arm is in a sling. "Come to join us?"

"Searching for food," McKay explains, heading toward the serving area. The silver heating trays are empty and polished clean, but a quick look in the refrigerator reveals a selection of sandwiches and fruit. He grabs a number of items, piling them onto a tray.

Further into the kitchen, Carson has accessed the drinks machine and is busy heating water. He glances at McKay, and offers: "Coffee?"

Rodney grunts, more concerned with the act of carrying his tray across to his team's table to answer coherently. Sheppard moves his feet off the table and grabs a chair, pulling it forward for McKay to sit down.

"Hungry, McKay?" the Colonel asks, eyeing the heavily laden tray, one eyebrow raised.

"Starving," he replies, grabbing a chicken salad sandwich and ripping the wrapping open. He glances at the dirty dishes beside his team. "What did I miss?"

"Pie," Ronon responds. "And curry."

"Ronon had both," Teyla explains, leaning past McKay to take an apple from the tray.

Carson reappears from the kitchen, carrying a large pot and two mugs. He sets them down onto the table, then drops onto the chair Sheppard pulls out for him. "How's your arm feeling, Colonel?"

"Aches a bit," Sheppard admits.

McKay tries not to stare at the bandage. "What did you do?"

"Bionic elbow, then a corkscrew leg drop," Ronon explains, matter-of-factly. "He should have ducked."

"It wasn't the ducking that was the problem," Sheppard objects. "It was the part where you slammed me into the floor face first."

"You were supposed to be relaxed." Ronon shrugs. "It wouldn't have hurt if you'd been relaxed."

Only a minor injury, McKay thinks, trying to concentrate on his dinner. Nothing to be worked up over.

The chicken tastes like ash. He forces himself to swallow, then sets the remainder of the sandwich down onto the table.

He hears Maggie's voice in her head. _"Aren't you worried what will happen if you're not there to protect them?"_

"McKay?" Sheppard prompts, poking him with his uninjured elbow. "You still with us?"

He looks up, controlling his expression and the tone of his voice. "The wrestling was your idea or Ronon's?"

"Both," Teyla explains, with a perfected, long-suffering sigh.

"And you didn't pay attention to the 'don't try this at home' label?" He snorts, faking normalcy. "I thought that warning was only for eight year olds, but apparently maturity doesn't come with age."

"Or common sense," Carson adds, taking a sandwich from the tray.

Sheppard pushes his right hand into the sling, massaging his wrist. "Point taken," he concedes. His gaze lingers on McKay. "Elizabeth's given us our next mission. We go off-world the day after tomorrow."

"A simple trading mission," Teyla explains.

McKay scowls. "Which means angry natives who think human sacrifices are a good way to spend a Saturday night."

"Pessimist."

"It isn't pessimism," he shoots back, glaring at Sheppard, "when I happen to be right."

Sheppard shakes his head, then pauses, meeting Rodney's gaze evenly. "You can't think like that," he says, calmly. "Wondering about the what ifs, preparing for the worst. It doesn't work. Trust me, I know."

McKay returns his gaze for a moment. He sees Sheppard's expression, the reassuring warmth of his words betrayed by the hint of apology and sadness in his eyes.

Pegasus is a dangerous place. He almost told Maggie as much.

It isn't cowardice, McKay tells himself. Not when the fear is real.

But he has overcome that fear before, and will do again. Will, because he now sees and understands all that comes with it. The benefits to life in Atlantis, as well as the dangers.

He looks at Sheppard's injured arm, and sees a sprained wrist, and two foolishly immature men trying out WWE moves on each other.

"Idiots," he mutters, loud enough for them both to hear.

Sheppard grins, removing his right hand from the sling to reach out and grab McKay's uneaten chicken sandwich. "A snack," he explains, taking a bite and ignoring McKay's affronted: "hey!"

Ronon slaps the scientist on the back, hard enough to dislodge fillings. "It's good to have you back, McKay," he says, gruffly, then grabs a beef sandwich from the tray.

"Will people stop saying that?!" Rodney protests. He attempts to cover up the tray with his hands. "And would you stop stealing my dinner? I brought you a present, isn't that enough?"

Teyla leans forward again, reaching out to steal another piece of fruit from McKay's tray.

"Hey!"

She takes a bite, then points out: "You did not bring me a gift, Rodney."

"I…" he splutters, feeling his face grow red. "I didn't have chance! Besides, I only bought Ronon the stupid DVD because I saw it in the duty free and unless you wanted a bag of Skittles or a bottle of cheap perfume…"

"He's right, love," Carson interrupts. "But I'm sure Rodney will make up for it, once the Daedalus returns to Earth."

"Right!" he protests, thankful for the backup.

Sheppard grins, swinging his legs up so his feet are once again propped up by the table, obnoxiously close to McKay's tray of food. "Teyla, have you ever tried Skittles?"

"What?!"

"No," the Athosian admits. "They sound… intriguing."

"But they… they're…" Language failing him, Rodney snaps his mouth shut and glares at Sheppard.

"You should learn to share," the Colonel replies, simply. His grin widening, he pushes his feet a fraction closer towards McKay. "And Ronon's right. It is good to have you back."

Pulling his tray closer towards his chest, and glaring at Sheppard's feet in disgust, McKay retorts without venom: "Yes, well _I'm_ _having second thoughts."_

Sheppard shrugs, ignoring him, munching into his chicken sandwich happily. "Where were we?" he asks of Ronon.

The Satedan rolls his shoulders. "Star Wars."

"Oh, yeah. See, there's this guy called Yoda…"

McKay rolls his eyes.

He has his lab back. The potential of Atlantis awaiting discovery. And the day after tomorrow he and his team go on their first off-world mission for months.

Carson's mother was right, he muses. It is impossible to have a heart in two places at once. A clichéd truth, but a truth nonetheless. Returning to the city has given him a sense of peace that Earth could not.

Peace that is shattered when Sheppard suddenly cuffs him around the back of the head, hard.

"Hey! Pegasus to McKay, you listening?"

Mouth open, he splutters indignantly at the assault. "You hit me!"

"We were debating something important. Star Wars or Star Trek?"

Dumbfounded, he stares at Sheppard for a moment, then shakes his head. "I should never have left Earth."

* * *

_The End!_

_Thanks go to every single one of you who reviewed. You guys are amazing. _


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